Instigator
by Onyxx-09
Summary: In a world that hates what's different, some have to be careful to not gain the title "MUTANT," to blend in and hide under the radar. But in between family and school life, crushes, homework, hormones, and emerging abilities, it isn't easy for young mutants. And when a particular speedster meets a cursed girl, thinking it fun, he gets more than he bargained for. Pre-DOFP. Part 1/4.
1. Interrogation (trial chapter)

_**A/N: First off, I haven't seen the movie Days of Future Past yet and I'm just going by the trailers, featurette information, and my own personal past knowledge. I was shocked by not being able to find any fics with THIS version of Quicksilver! Also, this is all a trial on both this OC character and this pairing, so it's brief and quite simple because I currently don't entirely know how THIS Quicksilver is going to act like. And if the style of writing seems weird, please tell me and I'll change it.**_

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_**EDIT: **__**I DID go see Days of Future Past literally the next day after posting this XD**_

_**so I went back and edited details that didn't fit and were off according to the movie. But the bit about the files in here are entirely my own doing. it will play in later.**_

_**This story is written in the style of the Bakemonogatari series.**_

_**[Disclaimer:]** __I do not own anything connected with Marvel or Quickie, just my OC / __I might tend to draw inspiration from the Monogatari series, but no to that too**]**_

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**_If someone has seen the show Bakemonogatari, the style of writing here is based off of that, so you may get the style a bit better, maybe? But if you haven't seen it, that's ok._**

**_The bits that are centered are internal monologues, additional information, or imagery. When it says something like "RED PAUSE SCENE" it's like those words on that color background for a brief moment (in the example's case, red) like in the show. It is similar to old films that give a flash of words across the screen. RED or BLACK PAUSE SCENE serves as a scene break or pause as well. Same with short words like "FASCINATE" or "CHANGE." But with ones like "FLOWER PATTERN" or "PIG" are imagery to imagine if you want. If not, that's fine too. The rest would just be additional information that the characters don't speak._**

**_Any complaints please message me on my tumblr._**

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"Now let's get this straight. I don't wish to be here, nor do I care what will happen—to you—after this."

He continued scowling at her through his eyebrows.

"What's up; you look down? I'm only here because I was told to."

To those who wouldn't have known her would have mistaken her comment as actual sympathy, unlike him.

He knew the moment she stepped foot in the room, that their invisible tug-of-war would resume. It always did.

She constantly kept him on his toes—one day he could be handed a handsome handmade lunch with hearts and love contained within; other days he could have a pen shoved into his eye socket for breathing too loudly. It was a war of sorts, and though they've only known each other for a _certain_ amount of time...it was something he found incredibly alluring.

WAR

UNSPOKEN

HEARTS

"Do you always do what you're told," he countered just as coolly.

Her eyes narrowed to the boy sitting across the table. She knew she couldn't answer him honestly—she knew that they were being watched.

Instead, she tilted her head to the side slightly, fingers toying the ends of her knees. "Is that the natural color of your hair? You know, I've never asked before and it's never come to mind until now."

His hands instinctively flew to his head but then removed them just as quickly. "What kind of question is that?!"

"A _yes_ or _no_ one."

"Well it's completely off the topic of this all, ya know." He rested his hands on his dark jeans, the knees ripped, and glared as well.

"Well is it?"

"Change of subject."

It was more of a racket game of dominance between the two, of who can out-snide the other sometimes.

She sighed. "I wish to be here no more than you do. I could be doing _much more_ productive things with my time..."

The boy shrugged and folded his arms. "You're presence is _very_ enjoyable. It reminds me of..._sunshine_ and _puppies_." Sarcasm overflowed from his comeback.

The girl glared back at him in silence but he knew her remarks were far from over. Though she was no older than him, maybe give or take a few years or so, she proved to have a far more sharper tongue. Half of the time.

"I sense that to be either sarcasm in that previous comment of yours or that you actually tried to insult me by comparing me to things associated with children."

Well, that wasn't exactly what he had meant, but, ok...

The slightly wide-eyed look of his expression cued her to continue.

Her blank, provoking look to her eyes didn't change as she merely tilted her head to the side again. Her tone remained calm though her words stung like red iron: "I get from your slightly dumbfounded look that that _is_ true."

Well, he was positive another word surely could have been used instead of_ dumb_founded, and knew that that was just another of her verbal razors intended for him.

A mental picture of her sharpening a large knife, eyeing him, a slight smile on her lips came to mind. Though the thought was an exaggerated metaphor, he still repressed a shiver.

IRON

SHARP

TONGUE

She was incredibly blunt, a trait that made the task of interaction by others with her a challenge, as she would usually keep a straight face.

Instead, she then crinkled her eyes and finally, her expression cracked into a thin, yet slight, grin. "What do you think I am, stupid?"

He blinked rapidly.

Cruel—she can be. A bit insensitive—surely. But stupid—that'd be pushing the standards, even for him.

His gaze drifted to the only other object in the room and the thing keeping them both at distant. There was a brightly colored tool near the edge of the desk and from knowing her after all this time, the tool would be what she would reach for if the time came for it. But he could easily get to it first, but remembered they were being recorded as well as watched by the faculty and so thought against it.

Other supplies decorated the muddy-grey-colored desk, such as a small container of paper clips, a bottle of whiteout, ink, scissors, and an in-and-out bin stacked with papers he was sure his name was on somewhere. Mundane posters of _teamwork_ and _safety_ hung on the three of four walls. He turned his eyes from the lone bright red stapler that sat near the edge of the desk. An ink pen and sharpened pencil faced her direction.

_it's quite boring in there, actually..._

He had remained silent.

She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

He swallowed.

"Well...?" she pressed.

IMPATIENT

She has pretty eyes...

He opened his mouth and began to stutter. She interrupted him.

"You should be more considerate when speaking to a woman." She was back to wearing that stolid exterior again. She looked to the single window overlooking the parking lot.

"We're about the same age!"

"Again, consider_ate!_"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah whatever."

She rolled her gaze to his direction, now glaring.

From an outside perspective, this may have appeared as all kinds of unhealthy. To one: wasn't he just putting up with an abusive, possessive, and cruel girl that he knew? But then again, she dealt with an arrogant, constantly on-the-move, anger-prone boy whose reputation wasn't a star pupil's.

"Why don't you just go back to the thing about _all this_," he rolled his wrist, indicating the small room they were in, "so I can hurry up and go."

"Always in a rush," she observed about him. _It's always go, go, go!_

She eyed his legs from behind the desk, watching his thighs bounce rapidly, irritated.

"I can see that you're quite impatient. Does being in this room bother you?"

He narrowed his eyes, catching the taunting tone in her voice. Though she can be harsh at times, she is sincere with all she says, a truth he found he can hold on to.

At least it was never entirely boring. At least to him.

_he's a little bit of a spaz._

"Hm...does something about being locked in a room with a lone girl, with nothing but a desk, put you on edge?" A finger rested under her chin, appearing as if she was deeply thinking. This time she sounded truly curious.

"Do you realize what you just said sounded like it was the summary of some kind of porno?"

She blinked. _Obviously not._

"Seriously..."

Her lips slipped into a tiny pout. He dragged his gaze back up to her stony glare instead.

_Complete innocence_

Silence.

"Just get on with it," he sighed.

The girl straightened in her seat. "So," she begun, "I am supposed to sit here and question you and perform some kind of sympathy act that would cause you to gravel at my feet, piteously spilling all of your woes and confessions to me," she answered instead, still in a calm manner.

_"Gravel." That was a bit much..._

"Therefore, causing all this to be over and for them come haul you away."

The boy's scowl deepened.

"But I'm not going to do that." She crossed her legs. She wore black knee-highs, he saw. "Despite what you may know of my father's good-doings and happy-go-lucky belief-speeches he speaks to the public, I don't believe in pity-motivation and such tactics that these shameful people who call themselves "good citizens" fall for. They only work on the weak."

His scowl softened.

"If you were a weakling, I'd no choice than to graciously place this pencil directly into that large socket of plasma," she pointed directly at him, "known as your eyeball. As, a weakling would be a waste of my time."

His brow twitched. He was sure she meant "gracefully," not "graciously." Though either way, he was certain he wouldn't think it grateful to have his eye gouged out.

He sat back into the chair.

"You aren't a weakling, now, are you, Mister Maximoff?" The cocky tint to her impassive features didn't go unnoticed.

He countered: "Still posing on their side, Miss Capulet?"

This time, she did smile, though it was faint and sly.

She became involved with the silver-haired boy following an accidental encounter not long ago. Though she would swear that the incident had been entirely coincidence and she had been made the victim, there has since been a chain of events that seemed to have been set off that caused the two to run into one another and bump heads. She has since grown on him.

Back to the present.

"Well I have to. After all, it was you who stole those files, now wasn't it?"

He went cold. How would she have known that?! More so, how would she have known it had been him? She couldn't have possibly seen him... Those files had been under lock and key in her father's office, where she said she never went.

He looked like a deer in headlights—it then dawned on him: _She said._

He mentally smacked himself, his jaw dropping open.

_Those files_ had been a folder containing the names of numerous alleged mutants residing in this and the surrounding counties, some who are innocent but many were charged with one misdemeanor or another. One of them was a report about a man being held deep inside The Pentagon, a news article from years ago. There was also a legal act being written up against the local identified mutants among the files. It was one of the things he had been bribed to steal by thee men—one with long, boney claws. The one who had enforced Pietro's escapade was the shorter of the trio who had the longest hair and short patience, who had been influenced by the one with the glasses that the files might have possible candidates for students or something like that—must be about that card Pietro had read before. The impatient one had been only after the Pentagon file, however.

They were to come back next weekend for his alleged prison break mission.

But those documents had nothing to do with this interrogation. He was here because he was accused of several misconducts. Well, actually he_ did_ do them. The faculty are just trying to prove him guilty.

She didn't know he was mutant.

He regained himself, cleared his throat. "What are you talking about?"

Eyes narrowed, her cheek was now on her fist. "Really, Pietro...?"

Silence followed.

Her gaze remained on his, unchanging, unwavering her harsh glare. _Why was she even concerned about it anyway?_ he wanted to challenge.

The room felt like it was spinning. Like it was all way too, TOO slow.

He wanted to run up the wall from the tension until finally, she sighed, placing her hands on the desk as if to stand. His gaze remained on her, heart raced momentarily.

"Ohhh," she moaned, stretched, "so I suppose you were wrong."

Then in one fluid, almost surprisingly quick, motion, she reached across the table and held the red stapler in his mouth.

He hadn't even flinched.

"You are a weakling, Pietro.."

He could have easily moved out of her way but decided to let her gain the upper hand, taking the abuse.

She lightly clicked the stapler around his skin and he felt the metal press to the inside of his cheek. He knew that he could easily, quickly move out of the way even now, but also knew that he had half a chance of his move either working, the staple leaving two long streaks across his face as he ran, or her getting him another day. Either way, he knew that if he dealt his cards wrong, he'd have metal poking out the other side of his face.

The minutes seemed to tick into hours.

Following the first time they met, there had involved a quarrel, several office supplies, and a box-cutter.

He was surprised no one has rushed into the room by now to separate them yet.

"Now," she continued in her familiar, calm manner, "I'm going to ask you one more time..." She then winked at him, which caused an eyebrow raise from him. "I know you were the one who stole all those files containing my _homework_." There was that wink again. "You were just jealous that I was receiving higher scores and so you stole those files from behind my back."

It took him a moment, but he begun to see what she was doing there.

"Who did you give them to and what did they want?" she asked.

His voice gurgled slightly around the stapler. "This is a bit of a personal matter to be discussed here, now isn't it, Rainy?"

Rainy. It was the name her mother gave her which her father hadn't had a say in the matter. Pietro remembered the tattoo on her shoulder that complimented her name.

"No." Her tone was heavy now. "This is a far bigger concern than _personal_."

Yup, he concluded. She was referring to her father's—the town's soon-to-be major by the looks of the election—stolen files, some he was preparing to send to the government.

Pietro tried to ignore the fact that she was hovering over him while kneeled on top of the desk, a propped knee giving a slight peek under her skirt if he was to tilt his head just a little bit.

The stapler clicked together around his cheek in warning. He was delaying his answer.

"Hm, because all they had to do is ask if they wanted help."

Now his eyes widened fully. Did she realize what she was inviting herself into?! An all-out war!

"No! Of course not!"

She looked taken aback. "Huh? And why not?"

Pietro paused.

_Uh oh._

Red Territory

_SHIT._ What could he say to that? That it was too dangerous?—No. That is was top-secret?—that'd just cause her to press the details further. That it could put her life and family at risk?—she wouldn't care and would be up for "the adventure." That it only involved mutants?—certainly not!

"Because you're a girl!"

CLICK

Wrong answer.

Pietro crumpled between his knees, cradling his injured cheek in one hand. Above him and on the desk still, she stood on her knees looking down on him in more ways then one. Actually, it as more like she was glaring at the silver-haired boy.

She humphed. "And I thought you were a little better than that, Pietro."

He didn't, _couldn't_ say anything after that.

A shadow of her hair was cast over her eyes. She clicked the stapler at her side again in warning.

RED

She knew he would be growing angry, but didn't quite care.

She definitely earned an explanation from him after he would leave here. He wasn't planning to return to this school anyhow, and had made that clear in the few "goodbyes" he left several administrators.

Before he could utter a counter rude remark, she commanded: "now, admit you were the one who filled those gym underwear with the lunch pasta."

He was silent

"And that you also did that _prank _on Coach."

Pietro grunted.

"And don't forget taping that sign that said 'GIVE ME A SLAP ON THE BACK IF YOU THINK I'M A TERRIBLE TEACHER' on Mr. Genevieve's back."

He glared up at her in almost hatred.

"Hey, Maximoff. Don't you think I deserve an answer, especially after all this," came her unwavering voice as she swung her legs around to the front of the desk where he sat.

He was on top of her quicker than humanly possible. Her eyes widened more as he pressed her shoulders to the desktop. A hand was on top of hers that was still holding the stapler. Her legs had come from under her, now tangled with his. She could swear he was trembling slightly.

Pietro gritted his teeth. He was definitely angry now. "Fine, I admit it! What do you want from me!"

She blinked, quiet for several moments. "Just that. So, nothing anymore."

He then realized what he'd just admitted to, and kicked himself on the inside.

"You just confessed to them." She turned her head to the only door, otherwise unmoving from her back to the desktop. "Looks like our time here is finished.."

IMPULSIVE

He looked stunned.

"Now if you're finished with your perverted antics, at least take me to dinner first."

He jumped away from her as if stung.

Rainy stood slowly, brushed herself off for good measure.

"Remember our talk at the park. And I can't go around helping those who hide and steal from me; at least pick one of the two. And to be honest, it's easier for me to help with something more personal. After all, it's simpler."

"Simpler...?"

"Yes." She turned away, listening with an ear to the door. "Sounds like the deans are coming for you now. This will of course be picked up after your condemn?"

Couldn't she have used a different word—punishment, convict, sentence?—anything than something that meant earning the death penalty?

He was going to have to meet her somewhere far away from nosey ears. He couldn't explain everything, but he would what he could. He still contemplated revealing that he was a mutant.

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

She smiled a little, winked.

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_**A/N: By the way, I do know a girl named Rainy and she's pretty awesome, and told me I could use her name. She's nothing like this OC in here though.**_

_**If there are any words of concerns or preferences or questions, please by all means, speak them. Please tell me what you think of this pairing. Do you want me to write more of them or perhaps an entire fic? Was this not enough and should I do another, more detailed one? Was it just "ok?" I might just add another, so you just might want to stay tuned.**_

_**Reviews are very important because without them it looks as if people have lost interest in the story. Reviews are literally what gets me up and doing things in the morning and what convinces me the story is any good. And more reviews equals more updates.**_

_**Please don't be one of those despicable people who do not send reviews. Nobody likes them.**_


	2. 36: Fascinat

_**A/N: This chapter seems long only because this author's note is long. Here's a second installment like you all wanted, and in response to your reviews I have decided to add more and have already written up more chapters ahead of time so I can have things to upload instead of having you all wait too long, you know**_

_**I personally don't think this chapter has lived up to my expectations or is as fast as the first and I greatly apologize and I'm just as disappointed as you might be. I had a chapter planned to come before this one, but I've been trying to write it for too long and restarted it literally more than five times but it still felt awkward and shitty to me and it just didn't live up to my expectations.**_

_**Now to start off, I want to thank you all 600+ viewers for reading this, favoriting this! I'm so serious because you all just seriously made my day, my week. How long has it been since I published this again; an actual week, right, I think? I never thought this would be so liked. Thank you so much, really.**_

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_**EDIT COMPLETE: I've gone over this and edited this chapter in order to correspond with the ending of this first part/arc. So if anything is notably different, that's why and please tell me if the flow is crap.**_

_**So this oc character, Rainy, may seem rude. She's brash, unapologetic, to the point, and says exactly what she's thinking and doesn't much care otherwise; she may seem to have a bitchy attitude but there's an honest and not-so-normal reason behind it. In fact, it breaks the laws of physics and it should be impossible to have happened.**_

_**[ Disclaimer: I already put it in the first installment, so go look there. ]**_

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Two weeks later

It was Thursday. And just like every other Thursday, or any day for that matter, Pietro was left to his own devises, forever stuck in this godforsaken slow world.

He leaned back, craning his neck back to the clouds. His chest heaved as he regained his breath from his previous run. His bright hair was a mess, windblown.

Earlier, an argument had broken out between himself and his sister, Wanda. The result of it had been her setting the backyard shrubbery on fire and him disappearing in a blur to go to blow off steam, of course, by doing what he did best: running. And in his impulsive decision he had decided to run the perimeter of the county in under twenty seconds in real time. It was a new record for him; and upon returning, had collapsed where he is now.

And there was no one around.

He wondered why he had decided to come to a park instead of back home—but then he remembered Wanda and decided to get comfy where he was. Wanda avoided parks like The Plague. She claimed to have bad run-ins and terrible "coincidences" whenever she came.

He didn't come to the park for any particular reason than to avoid his sister.

_Had arrived here randomly, going wherever his feet carried him._

But as the most known park in town, with it empty like it eas now, he felt as if he was the only person in the world. It added that it was a holiday, so whatever little kids that would have been here are gone with their families.

ALONE

_Perhaps it's an exaggeration, but it felt as if the park belonged to him. As if it would be perfectly alright if he never returned home._

He had collapsed under the flagpole. It was on a hill at the center of the park; there was a low concrete wall that surrounded the base of the pole in a square formation which also served as a makeshift sitting area overlooking the entire park. In a way, it was like overlooking your own colorful kingdom.

Far off to his right passed a swings set, he watched a small girl look at the town map printed on the side of a nearby building. Pietro perked a bit. She left without a glance in his direction. She was only looking for directions.

_Alone again_

In front of him, a large colorful circular jungle gym blocked most of his view. If his sister did happen to come past, he most likely wouldn't even see her.

It was funny that despite many saying that the two don't really look alike for twins, they possess the same attitude, particularly stubbornness.

_"If you're going to be like that—-" Wanda had snapped before the bushes beside her went up in flames._

He dropped his head in his hands, remembering unwanted. He made the memory go away; he didn't' want to think about anything stressful.

_She had jumped, surprised herself, before he had taken off._

It was a good thing they had been in the back and not the front yard, or else they would have been victim to screams, accusations, and perhaps worse if they had been seen.

But it was days like this which when staring at the sky, when he was pretty calm like this, that he could go at his own speed without worry when he became tired of his inability to synchronize with the world. He knew that time was constantly passing by much longer for him than it was for the rest of the world. He wondered if one day it could get better, for him, or the world.

_Maybe this is what you call self-loathing?_

Normally, he's not the type to be troubled easily, as if the word "troubles" has no such power over him. But every so often, he ends up in conditions like this.

_He's very sensitive to such things, when he loses his cool and gets restless_

The normal days are the best. He wishes that tomorrow would come sooner.

He was so lost in himself, he didn't notice the approaching presence until it was too late to escape.

"Oh, my. Well, well." The voice was soft, feminine. The sound of heels clicked along the concrete. "I thought someone left a kicked dog around here." She stops. "But it turns out it's just you, Pietro." She called his first name, knowing he hated when people did.

His lips parted when he saw it was her, again—Rainy Capulet.

She stood in between the colorful climbing bars, eyes crinkled with a smile.

He looked taken off guard.

"What? I was just saying hello," she defended innocently. "It was a joke."

He blinked. He was used to her words that can switch from warm to harsh at the flip of a dime, of her blunt, honest attitude that changed freely with her mood. He was used to seeing her in school clothes, a tacky tye-dye shirt and jeans at most. He was _not_ used to seeing her in street clothes.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling.

"No, uh.."

"Well, then, Pietro, you little boy?" she remarked about the goggles he'd forgotten were still around his forehead. "Were you just fascinated by my charming street clothes?" She jumped up on an elevated stepping block, hopping her way down the path to his direction. "A moment of bliss, perhaps?" Her white shoes clicked against the steps.

_That may have been a bad pun, but he really was fascinated._

She wore a short, stripped long sleeved shirt of earth tones and red, high waisted bellbottom jeans. Bracelets, white sandals, yellow shoulder bag, and a high ombre brown ponytail made up the rest of her attire.

She can be pretty damn cocky herself at times.

He didn't answer, thinking of the right comeback. She didn't take it as so.

"Anyway, fascination's meaning is the inability to look away, isn't it?" She landed on solid ground. She began making her way up the few stairs to the flagpole, not breaking eye contact. The smile before was gone now. "Don't you know? The word originates from the Latin word _fascinat,_which is where we get _bewitched _from," she rambled.

She jumped the last step and now stood in front of him.

He defended himself: "I'm just surprised because those clothes gave off a different air than what I saw you in before. That's it. Nothing else, alright."

"I guess," she sighed. "I guess it's because I was wearing mellower clothes then."

He mused this over.

"Speaking of which, I bought this whole outfit yesterday." She continued: "But I'm happy; I wanted you to see these clothes first, if possible, if I happened to run into you of course."

_It was a small town_

""If you wanted to show them to me first"...? Why are you making it sound like a stroke of luck or honor?"

She placed her hands on her hips and bent down closer to him, coming in his face, making sure he heard her. "I didn't want to show you them. I wanted you to see them." The locket of her golden necklace bounced against her chest. "The nuance is completely different."

He frowned.

Her eyes were unwavering and _(dare he say it) _bewitching.

She straightened her stance. "By the way, Pietro, just what are you doing here?" Her look returned to one of indifference, her somewhat calm default.

"Uh, walking. Sitting now." He lied—being a smartass. "Why are you here?"

She looked to the neighboring apartments. "This used to be my place. I used to live around here. But of course, like most things, that all changed...obviously." She paused.

He bounced his leg. He watched her gaze remain to the buildings in the distance, and him thinking thoughts that made him question his sanity.

There was a kind of sadness about her features.

Rainy and Pietro had introduced themselves under stressed and unsure circumstances. Even though they've been in the same class, prior, they've never interacted. Never needed to. Now, it was almost inevitable how they keep running into each other, how they were. It was almost as if they were being forced by the gods to get to know each other, where otherwise, they would have never proceeded to.

Now, one couldn't shake off the other.

"It's not that I'm emotional about it, but... For some reason seeing how where I lived has changed, it makes my motivation slip."

"Motivation?" he spoke a heartbeat after.

"Yes. You know, since last month."

He followed her gaze to a sign that read Uptown Valley—the name of the apartment complex. And it had been a month in total since returning from that traveling carnival, the same place that had ruined her life but managed to restore it too, exactly a month ago.

There was something solemn about her features.

She glanced at him. "My father wants the entire place torn down," she told him, randomly. "My mother never speaks against him for anything. That's why I can't stand this town, to be trapped here with them."

He looked up at her, and for once, didn't say anything.

Her father was many things to the public: for some, he is the political leader they have been waiting for the town; to others, he was a guy who was a former coworker who is making it to the top; then to some, he is an active anti-mutant supporter; still to a few, he is known as a family member, a son, a brother, husband, or father.

Pietro couldn't say the man was a loving person because he never met him in person.

"Who's to say you gotta stay here anyway? It's a big world out there, they say, don't they? But isn't that unavoidable? About the moving-away-thing? I mean, you wouldn't really have a choice on where to go as the time being, with your parents and all, especially given your dad's tryna become major?" he asked, speaking as if he didn't have enough time.

She didn't answer right away. "That's right, it is unavoidable." She gripped the strap to the yellow bag on her shoulder. "Hey, Pietro. You don't care if I sit next to you, do you."

He paused. "Next to me?" It was said as if in unwanted belief.

Her face was stolid. "There's something I want to discuss with you."

Yes, of course I don't want you to!—is what he wanted to say. But the words never came. He was left staring up at her like an idiot. Instead, he choked out a "fine." He wouldn't say it, but having an entire bench to himself, especially now with her standing in front of him, made him feel a bit uneasy. Even more knowing there would be nowhere to run now.

She slid in close next to him.

CLOSE

Her leg bumped his. He looked at her but she didn't give any notion at moving. She didn't even look at him.

_touch_

He looked over at her and his chest jumped into his throat. He questioned his sanity.

"I thought I would try thanking you for your help—properly, I mean."

"Uh," he slurred, "I don't care about that." He took the goggles from his forehead feeling his face heat up. "I'm not the type of guy for apologies, always seems too sentimental."

She smiled at him. It was small, but a smile nonetheless. "If you're not willing to accept an apology, I can thank you in a different way." She was leaned in closer to him now, her features serious once more.

"Stop thinking you have to owe me something." It came out a lot harsher than he intended.

Her brows raised in an un-amused manner. He inched away to put distance between his jeans and her.

He redeemed himself: "it's gonna make getting along and knowing you tougher, ya know."

Her eyes were wide at him now. "Getting along, huh?" She scooted next to him, purposely eliminating the space once between them, knowing his intentions.

He bounced his legs rapidly. Adrenaline had sudden begun coursing through him at high speed. She noticed this and drummed her fingers on her thighs.

She looked out onto the empty playground. Both remained silent for sometime, just taking in the surroundings—well, Pietro's mind was going at high speed. But Rainy wasn't finished.

"Pietro."

He resisted correcting her about his name, to tell her to call him by his nickname, his Americanized name, and instead acknowledged that he had heard her.

Then suddenly came: "can I think of you as someone dear?" She turned to him.

CLOSER

Her appearance alone was totally unexpected. But this—this was completely un-fortold. He was at lost for words, a rarity for those who knew him.

This was her. This was _Rainy_ _Capulet_, who had appeared unannounced on more days than he can count. This is the one who was asking him such an unusual and seemingly unnatural question. If he were to be asked this by her months ago, he would have probably gotten angry, blown her off, and left. But still, even now, he found "no" on the tip of his tongue. He didn't know _how_ he constantly ran into this girl, nor why he constantly tolerated her if he couldn't stand her presence.

"You're not the type who makes friends easily, are you?" he answered instead.

Now she was beginning to appear angry. "I have. I have several whom I consider close friends. I also know more people than you have family."

"Are you trying to pick a fight!?" He gritted his teeth.

She had no idea that all that he knew was his twin sister, Wanda; the Romani woman, Marya Maximoff, who has been raising them since they were young; and Marya's young daughter.

"Well I guess..." Her voice remained calm, her voice trailing, becoming soft once more. "What about you? I remember how you didn't really speak to many at school."'

He weighed his options before responding. "Yeah, so? I had a sorta...shift in things these passed several years. In a lot of things, actually." He wondered why is he speaking so much to her. Then to bounce back, he retorted, "were you always this hard and cryptic?"

Rainy looked to him, her head tilted slightly, a sight he found he could never look away from. Her eyes wide, didn't flicker from his. Her lips set in a thin, straight line. "I never really care much for many people on a deep level, I haven't for a long time. I didn't really stay around many people either—you know that. But I was like that a bit up until recently. More specifically, until I met you."

_What is this?_

_What is she saying; what is she meaning?_The thought quickly ran thru his mind. He felt like he was beginning to lose it.

Pietro swallowed. She leaned a little closer.

CLOSER

"What I also mean to say, Pietro, is no matter what you say, I have to pay you back."

He was dizzy.

CLOSER

"Once that's over..."

His vision spun.

"...we'll be more comfortable, be on even footing and become friends," she whispered, her face close.

Every time she would lean in closer to emphasis her point, he would bend a little to the side, where now she was practically leaning over on top of him.

And then her words processed: _And become friends._

FRIENDS

She had smiled.

Later that day, he locked himself in his room; fingers twined in front of his lips, leaned over his knees and bouncing his legs, he couldn't help but feel a lot letdown.

* * *

_**A/N: How is this? I really feel as if this one not as uppity as first. I'll try to make up for that in the next one, yes?**_

_**I saw how many of you wanted more, so I'm going to take a whack at the Marvel universe and try my hand at this character. If you all like this, I could do a few more installments? And I'm still debating whether I even should update that chapter that was supposed to come before this one; maybe I'll look at it again after a few days...? I'll definitely correct the first installment as soon as I think up of something, which will probably be this week..**_

_**I didn't do this update without the reviews and words of encouragement. Reviews are literally the only thing that will tell me whether this is "just ok" or not, or if I should stop now while I'm ahead. So please send them in! Oh, and prompts, suggestions are welcome**_


	3. Interrogation II

**_M__ore will be coming soon anyways. Please forgive me, I would have uploaded sooner but I had a math test that I REALLYYY needed to study for. You see, math and I are enemies destined to engage in warfare until the end of time so I had to make sure I won this battle._**

**_Anywho, this is the chapter that was to go after the trial chapter (in place of "chapter 2"). Yeah, I just sucked up being undecided and did my best to throw ish together to make something what I hope is somewhat decent and that connects to the rest of this...story? If it's not good, I don't think so very much of it either so wait 'til the next one to hopefully see better. So I guess you could say this tid bit is to hold you over until I post again, which should be by next weekend at the latest. (But reviews will make it sooner ;D )_**

**_I was unsure of using this line-divider thing in the story like below. So I feel a little weird about it._**

**_Also, I fixed the improper details in the first installment that didn't fit with the movie. I'm keeping some parts though because: A.) it would be difficult to remove, given if so, there would be large chucks extracted and that would be hazardous; B.) those detail will help with this story later_**

**_And just to make it clear, I WILL NOT update without reviews. Why should I keep adding to a story that no one is giving any acknowledgment of?!_**

**_[Disclaimer: I'm not putting this again after this chapter; this is just as precaution. In other words, go read it in the first installment . ]_**

* * *

Rainy shuffled thru the papers in her hands. She was on her knees in her father's personal study, a room off-limits to her and her mother—it was a rule unspoken by either parent but evident since she was little.

She was the only one home now.

She knew the combination to the safe in the small closet to the right since she was four. Her father should have never sat her on his lap and told her that the code was her birthday, not thinking that one day she would come to resent him. Actually, it was not her birthday exactly, but the day she _should have_ been born.

As she thumbed thru the many manila folders, there was indeed one missing—she'd already checked days before, but she found herself coming back again and again to flip thru the white filing papers, of fliers and contracts, the same ones _he_ had without her immediate knowledge. Though it had made sense when she had seen him walking on the opposite sidewalk, seeming to have come from the direction of her home before taking off at a jog.

She hoped that those files were in good hands now. Though she knew her father would suspect she had done it, she had had good reason to have used that stapler... She couldn't reveal that they had been robbed.

Why?—she didn't fully know herself.

* * *

The back of her hair rose from the sensation of being watched, though as she whirled around, her stance relaxed seeing who it was.

"Oh, it's just you."

Pietro frowned. "Well good morning to you too, Miss Sunshine." His pace met up with her in the hallway. "So we're a witch as usual today? Good to know nothing's changed."

"So we meet again," she joked. She decided to let his insult go for the time being. "I take it you're not in the best of moods this morning," she left the comment open purposely.

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. "How would you know that, what is that of any concern to you? You think you can read me _that_ easily, like a book, like you can read my mind or something? Cause it doesn't work that way I doubt you could even comprehend that, things don't work like that you don't know me."

Rainy tilted her head slightly in his direction. It was a trait he had noticed she does and was beginning to be very winsome to him. "My uncle has studied human behavior and body language for years, and my aunt it a licensed professional therapist, both showed me practices of their study for a long time," she answered only part of his ramble. "And I doubt _that_ would be difficult to understand at all."

They were both on their way to class of a new week, one inwardly pleased towards herself, the other absolutely dreading his return.

It's been several weeks since the last time they interacted, since she interrogated him. Rainy counted it on one hand.

Despite having attended the same high school and middle school, the two didn't know of each other's existence until two years ago. And still, neither had made an effort to. Both had been...different people then.

Inside, Rainy still holds a small grudge to the teacher that had paired them together for that lab.

As for the conversation at hand: he wasn't rushing thru the hall, or was even late for that matter, which was an immediate notion that something was off.

In technical, they haven't spoken for more than five hours if you were to add up the total time, rather than for others' who'd normally add up to days, weeks; the rest of their time had been filled with shooting looks and sticking tongues.

_"I doubt your mind would be difficult to comprehend at all."_

Pietro frowned. "Someone's a real ass in the morning."

Some of the students in the hallway glanced their way. A few gave suggestive, judging looks. At this school, it can be easy to begun being judged. It didn't help that they were close to the capital, as many political opinions trickled down to them.

"Geez, do you have to say something so hurtful," she sounded genuinely shocked and hurt. It was feigned.

_REALLY!?_

Pietro looked at her, mouth open and eyes wide. He sputtered for an explanation, completely fooled. Before he could blurt his answer, she was back to her stolid self.

She quickened her pace to be several steps in front of him. Pietro's eyes burned into the back of her head.

"Oh, before I forget: how did your partners in crime go? Those files are in good hands aren't they, I hope." She didn't even glance back behind her.

_Straight to the point_

He shuffled his backpack further up his shoulder. A hand ran thru his hair, windblown from running to school. He grunted, "yeah, they are," wondering once again why she was so intent on the care of case files that didn't in any way involve her.

He ran his tongue over the healing staple wound inside his cheek.

Before they separate for their seats in class, she had muttered something out of earshot, and it sounded a lot like "how cute."

Pietro wrinkled his nose, rolling his eyes as she went over to join other students. He rested his chin on his folded arms on the desk. The way she had been on the brink of crying a month ago randomly came to mind.

She would still want an explanation, he knew.

**. . .  
. . .**

There was something about Pietro Maximoff, just something about that odd boy in her class that caught something inside her. Though, she has to admit that at first she had been completely against the thought of being in the same room as he, much less start a conversation with. It wasn't a mean or intentionally rude intention—she wouldn't put the effort into meeting _anyone_, any new people for more...personal reasons.

More often than once the two of them would be seen glaring at each other across the room; Rainy has found that she couldn't help it when her gaze would drift towards him at the mention of odd and energetic. Although, and unfortunately she believes, that wasn't the only and last time they interacted that day.

She was running into him more and more. And she would frown from it.

But what sealed her fate was that one day the teacher had assigned pairs for lab. Hand raises and chirps were ignored as students were seemingly intentionally put with those despised or usually hadn't paid much attention to - like she had. Then, Rainy had found it odd that the boy was so quiet during most of class but during that lab together, he talked _so_ much.

_He didn't talk to many_

He wasn't a very quiet person, she found that right off the back, but he wasn't being bullied either, so a more rational question would be: what was the reason for his anti-sociality? It must have resulted by something out of his control..?

_"Maybe it's his hair?"  
her friend had thought aloud, once_

But after that day, Rainy found that she unintentionally, unwillingly ran into him time and time again—and school was no exception. So one can imagine her face whenever she steps inside the classroom, knowing that the constant buzzing that was his voice would be set on GO.

_Even when he jumped up in his seat during class with a smirk on his face, raising his hand in request to partner with her for the science assignment, she groaned to herself_

_He knew what he was doing_

_It must have been planned_

_Because the teacher accepted_

_Closing her eyes, she resisted the reflex to smack him when he grabbed her arm after the chemical dripped on her_

_She is still getting used to the acknowledgement of touch._

But still, she wasn't going to let go what he had done.

Despite, over time and against her better judgment, Rainy was starting to become more and more accustomed to this energetic boy who seemed like a wound-up toy let loose. Maybe that is why she was allowing him to walk alongside her down the sidewalk after school. He had insisted that there was something he was to say to her anyway...

"Don't think I'm going to let my guard down," she had told him. "If you try anything, I'll cut it off," she warned.

"_Woah—_cut what off?"

She hadn't answered and had begun walking again already, passing him to walk ahead. He couldn't help but notice how she came up just to his shoulders.

"By the way, Pietro, where's your backpack?"

He had ran into her after school asking for her to come with him _somewhere_. Already, she had her brows arched, also from seeing he had apparently gotten rid of his school stuff. But surely he couldn't have made it all the way home and back to the school in those few minutes the last bell had rung..

He growled, "don't call me Pietro."

"Why wouldn't I call you by your first name. It is Pietro, isn't it? Unless it isn't and it's some kind of cover-up identity. Could you possibly have a secret identity; are you some kind of sicko that plans to isolate girls and fulfill your ill desires? Don't think I won't put up a fight just because I'm a lady."

"Do you have to be _that _much a bitch?" He knew that her words were not intentional insults—she had no control over them; how could she when she didn't know most of the time?—but still, sometimes he wished she knew when she would go a bit far.

She placed a hand on her chest. "Ouch, your words hurt. You see? My heart is breaking right here."

He rolled his eyes at her concern. "It's not pronounced _Pee_-tro. Call me Peter okay? I'm tired of people getting it wrong all the time so call me Peter from now got it?" He spoke in his usual manner as if he didn't have enough time.

"And your backpack?"

He had totally forgotten about that. He lied: "I have to keep both hands free. You know, if something happens and I can fight freely." He placed his hands atop his head.

She paused.

He continued along until realizing she was no longer following.

"You waited until we got here to say that..." She took a step back. "You set me up, didn't you?"

"C'mon. If I was going to do anything, don't you think I would have by now? We're just walking. The thing is that you don't know what's going to jump out on the street; it's just precaution. Cool your jets."

STARE

_Wasn't she the one who invited him?_

"Look, I'm not going to do anything, it'd just be a waste of effort and time you'd probably just chew my ears off in the process anyway."

She considered this. And after a moment of thought, supposed she could go along with his words. Didn't mean she necessarily thought them true, though.

"Don't get the wrong idea. Like I said earlier, I'm not letting my guard down."

"What is that supposed to mean," he questioned as she passed him.

Rainy folded her arms. "Listen up," she twirled, her skirt flowing. She had her suspicions and they ran deep. "I have five hundred goons who know where I am and what I'm doing—with you, at this very moment. If I were to go missing or go without contacting them, they will go and attack your family."

His brows arched before his hands raised in surrender. He mouthed a silent _Ohhh_. "Don't worry. Everything's gonna be _fine_. Promise. Scout's honor," he joked. He was going to try and be the good guy for now.

She didn't even crack a smile.

Rainy rolled her eyes. Pietro burned glares into her back.

Both walked in silence for a time, which was absolutely _killing _Pietro. He already couldn't quicken his pace; he couldn't just break off at lightening speed down the road just because she was taking "too long." He was here for a reason.

The sun was beginning to low in the sky and the afternoon began dropping in temperature. The sound of birds had increased; a stray cat crossed their path. Rainy merely glanced at the black cat and kept walking. They had been walking for what felt like an eternity into some further part of town.

Rainy finally broke the quiet: "so, what is it you wanted to speak about?"

Pietro snapped his head toward her. "Huh?"

"We've been walking for almost five minutes in silence. It's quite unnerving actually, and doesn't help oppose to my idea before, even _if _it was a slight joke."

_Slight?  
__So part of it WAS true suspicion?!_

"Oh yeah." Then he caught on and his eyes narrowed. "Look, I _said _I'm just telling you something I didn't want others to hear. And I live this way too." He lied about the last part.

"Hm," she mused. "Then speak."

_Like a command_

"My turn is coming up," she advised.

He glanced around. She watched his hands bury in his jacket pockets. "You know—about those files, they _are_ in good hands—but it wasn't my fault in the first place. I was threatened. No, tricked. I mean bribed, I was bribed you see, so I _had_ to. It was these three guys who just came to my house and wanted me to help with some big historical event that is to happen and apparently I'm a big help in it. So it's not like I could really turn that down, I mean who would?! Those files are with them. These couple of guys came to the door and wanted my help—I can't say much about it because they don't want me to. It's all on the hush hush. I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to so don't get mad. That means now you can't tell anyone. _Anyone_. 'Cause I'm holding you to this—and don't think I forgot about your "condition," 'cause I haven't told anyone of it still. So don't speak this to anyone. Not even your mom. I can't even tell mine; she'd kill me if she knew. And I swear if you _do_ tell anybody, by god I'm dragging you down with me, got it?"

Rainy was silent for some time, just taking it all in. So her father was digging himself a deeper hole than he could get out of..?

"Do you even know these men in any way?" She finally asked, in a monotone voice.

Pietro shrugged. "I do enough. The big one looked a bit sketchy, though.. It's not like I really need to necessarily, right? It's just this quick thing and that's it, nothin' to it."

Rainy didn't say anything.

_The way he answered that made it seem ill- thought out,_

_Like he was up to no good._

She turned to him. "Can you say of anything this _big _factor you're supposed to be apart of?"

"No," he sighed.

She turned back ahead. "Ok."

She wasn't going to press the issue. It was probably a gang he had gotten himself in trouble with. Not her problem, right? And it's not like she'd even miss him, right...?

Silence again.

Just before she turned to her right to go down the narrow street that would lead home, she spoke, glancing to him only once.

"Now, watching over you is not my responsibility, despite what Mr. Genevieve might think—-"

"Genevieve thinks I need watching over!?" he interrupted, learning this new information.

"-—so I'm not going to scold you about your decisions like I'm your mother," she continued as if he hadn't interrupted. "I wouldn't _want_ to be your mother. In fact, I feel mighty sorry for her at times—-"

"-—Geez thanks."

"-—but you've made it this far, so that shows you have somewhat a brain inside there. So I'd advise you use it well before you lose it." She flicked a finger to his direction. "Or it might come oozing out of your ears all squishy and slimy. Maybe while you sleep."

Pietro's face was a narrowed, don't-fuck-with-me mask. "Thanks for the imagery. I'm going to sleep exceptionally well tonight."

Rainy twirled on her heels.

* * *

**_It's mundane, yadda yadda yadda, I know! Like I said before, if you have any complaints or other words to say. Just no flames please. Or threats.._**

**_ok now reply:_**

**_to Miccacode: _**_those circumstances and meetings are actually to come sooner than you may think.. *hint hint wink wink* And Thank you so very much !_

_And thank you so so much for you others who reviewed. Now for the rest of you alerters on the other hand..._

**_Also, I had gotten a reviewer telling me that the conversations were a bit hard to follow. Sorry about that and anyone who might have felt the same way. I'll try to not make them so complex now on. Like this one. Is it okay now ?_**

**_you all, PULEEZE don't forget to leave a review ! More reviews = quicker updates._**


	4. Chapter 1: Rainy Reptile I

_**A/N: This focuses on Rainy and a glimpse of her background. This can be looked at as being the first chapter, I guess, since it's supposed to take place months before the previous three.**_

* * *

Rainy Capulet is a quiet girl. With not only having an unusual name that acquired her share of teasing in the past, she has also obtained a sort of reputation throughout her peers. Even though during most of middle and high school she attended the same classes with the same students who are with he same group of friends and who are still in the same labs and library study time as she, somehow she had acquired that title.

Since mid-junior high she had been regarded as enigmatic and a so-called "weak girl"

Which was ironic because she looks absolutely normal—she has no bodily difference, she has average health...

She has lived in this town following the move in elementary, when her father begun pursing his political career and her mother begun falling off the rails in their marriage. But she hadn't cared about that then. She hadn't cared about many things, including what her father did, and not only because she hadn't understood at the time.

A little girl stares at her shoes listening to the voices behind the closed door in front of her. Her father was supposed to take her to the zoo today. The plushie animal she had thrown on her bed minutes ago lay forgotten. She had been sent to her room because she had reminded him. Maybe she should have waited until the other man talking in the suit had left the house...

She doesn't see her father much anymore.

A year prior to her enrollment in high school, she experienced a life-changing event. Now, she rarely speaks in school; she rarely interacts; she rarely smiles—if she does, it's feigned—because she can't. Those closest to her have also picked up on tiny noticeable changes. Neither knew why it was. In the years when she was smaller, she saw the world as a small place; a place where one would have to search far for something greater—this town is the only thing she's known and she wants to get away from it. She doesn't want to stay; she doesn't want to end up like her parents.

Her mother bakes too much and her father's office is constantly littered with papers and men in business suits. There have been too many faces coming and leaving through the front door. Even when they had that house before moving here, there were way too many faces she hadn't cared to count for that she'd get to know and then just leave so suddenly, some without a goodbye. Some who would eat their food without gratitude. Some who slept on their furniture, watch their television. They were all strangers.

There are too many people, too many faces that come and go from their home at the wee hours of the day. Though she's grown used to it, she's grown tired of it

Normally, Jeffery Garcia and similar music would play throughout the house as her mother would sing and dance, usually with a rolled one in her fingers; sometimes her mother would be weaving a basket or just gone. There are times when the tribal-themed furniture and the many antiques that decorated their home would become too much. That's when she would leave.

Rainy has never once been seen doing anything active in high school—she has never been a part of a club, a sport, or band. Since the beginning of high school, she'll be that one reading yet another book or staring out the window. She didn't particupate in class unless called on, and she wouldn't talk to you either unless she knew you. But it's not like this is particularly her fault, because if she talked too much, if she got too close, her secret could become jeopardized.

Once in a while she has been seen talking to a small number of peers she's known for a few years now.

She has always sat in the classroom reading books, alone. Sometimes it is a hardcover that looks difficult, other times it's a comic book with a cover design indicating that it will decrease your intellect just by reading it.

Suitably, she's very smart and is at the top of the class. You'd definitely find the name Rainy Capulet within the top names in those who scored out of an upcoming test. So, also suitably to say, she found school profoundly boring. It was a pastime; it allowed her to get rid of this extra time in her days.

Most times, Rainy can be found itn the bleachers for the school's boys' basketball games talking to a few of the players if she wasn't with those called friends or with a book in her hands. She apparently knows some of the players. Other times she's seen with one, or maybe two fellow peers at most, by her side. At the bus stop, she gets on/gets off and walks within a group of others from her neighbourhood.

Rainy sees friends as a pastime  
Though this too isn't entirely her fault

One would suppose that she doesn't seem to have many friends at first glance, not even one person she's apparently close to or stays around in comparison to the multitude of juveniles who are always in groups, laughing, and joking.

Even though there are a number of others who feel the same as well

Wanda knows this feeling especially

Even though she's been going to school with many of the same faces that transferred from junior high, many of them haven't interacted at all. It was a moderately small town where one would expect everyone to know each other, but they didn't. Many chose not to. And so she stopped feeling.

IF they had known each other...

No one would ask why there are bags under eyes...

You see?

That had been the norm for her now: just living in this small world, trying to survive in an anxious world, dreading the day she would become like her parents as every passing lipstick-smothered and cigarette-smoking adult spoke of. She'd say that would be her excuse for reading so many books.

So those days she didn't come to school for weeks after an injury went generally unnoticed except by those who took attendance. Only a few noticed: those who's reputations were not favored by the popular of the school.

She was first noticed by a young brunette, a member of the school's wildlife society, who went by the name Wanda. It had been near the end of a boy basketball championship game in eighth grade, and Rainy was along the railing stairs out-looking the football field. She was alone and Wanda was just behind the fence far diagonally behind readying for her ride home. Rainy had been standing on a low rail and had been holding her wrist, a slight look of pain on her face, before glancing out at the field for a long time, opening her arms as if the wind could take her away. She also had a gauze and bandage on her upper shoulder. Wanda Maximoff didn't see Rainy Capulet much after, but it was heard that the girl had been on the news with other classmates who had been passing on their way to a diner as a celebration. They had been passing by in front of the camera that was reporting some crime, Wanda vaguely remembered.

Rainy had apparently gotten sick after that. Her reputation of being weak had followed that night.

She has a tendency of leaving unannounced...

Rainy began interacting less in school from then on. She kept out of events, spoke less to her friends, and read more. Much more. Entering high school, she reportedly lost ninety percent of her friends. She rarely spoke to any and only answered questions unless asked. She was merely glanced at by others and it was rare to have an interaction with her. She had also stopped smiling.

She was once a very social girl,  
her mother worries

Her mother helped cause it

However, that all changed on that day—it was more like a chain of events. A freak chain of events, actually. It all did a complete 360 on a rainy day at the school—it all began with a pale man in dreads and a top hat, a bald blonde in ritual robes, and a boy with silver hair.

Rainy Capulet.  
Gender, Female.  
Ombre dark brown hair.  
Bright eyes.  
Birthday, July 7  
Multiethnic American-born citizen

* * *

She pulls an arm through her sleeve and the other follows for the other. As she buttons down her shirt, she glances outside. It was raining, the thought flatly came to her. Her face unchanged looks to the umbrella resting near her bedroom door. She walks over and slid on her shoes after slugging her schoolbag onto her shoulder, making sure to grab the umbrella before shutting and locking her bedroom door.

This house her parents owned was average sized with three bedrooms, but she knew that when her father won the election he has been working hard towards—if he won—they would surely be moving into a larger one. To her, it would just make more room to herself and give the guests more space to roam unwelcome.

Rainy brisk down the hall. The schools would be coming soon and she she might have even made it out the door without any unpleasantries if only she had noticed the opened guest room beforehand. The last remnants of sweet smoke flowing into the hall from the open door—it was something so much the norm it went unnoticed at first. She didn't turn to catch sight of their newest stranger in the room and tries picking up her pace even quicker but it was inevitable she found out, as soon as she rounds into the kitchen.

She locks eyes with her mother who was leaning against the stove. Now, it would take much longer to leave. If she misses the bus, she knew the attitude that would come when she asks for a ride. Last time, she had been told to not ask for another two months.

Her mother's pink flowery nightgown flowed to her ankles. All of the buttons were open—to no surprise—to where Rainy could see her chest's valley. She knew the woman wouldn't care.

FLOWERS

HAIR IN A BUN

WHITE SMOKE

The woman's fingers rose to her lips, removing the bud from where it had been resting there and blows out smoke. She smiles. "What were you doing up all night, hun? I could hear you all the way in the room." She inhales from the drug again and lets out a small cloud of white smoke and watches it exit out the small open kitchen window. "You hungry?"

"I only got up once to use the bathroom," Rainy answers, hoping she wasn't frowning. She watches as her mother moves the spatula to the pan of frying tofu. "And no thanks, I'm not hungry."

"You're why I had trouble sleeping last night"

Her mother took the blunt from between her lips. "You haven't been hungry a lot lately. Are you okay? You sick?" she asks, concerned.

Rainy shakes her head.

"You sure?" her mother worries.

"I'm sure."

Mrs. Capulet shrugs. "Well I am," she grins, turning back to her food. "You'll be missing out! More for me!"

Rainy's expression doesn't change formats calm. "Mom, you just have the munchies." She never calls her mother by her first name no matter how much the woman insists.

"Yup," and the woman pops the 'p,' still smiling.

The girl turns, leaving. Typical.

NORMAL

As she makes her way to the front door, she makes a beeline to the living room to see a man looking from a family portrait on the wall to the small figurines on the shelf and adjusting the buckle of his pants. This was just what she was looking for. It wouldn't be the first time that some of their "guests" decided to give themselves a tour or maybe take home a souvenir or two (which usually would be a small figurine). She was the only one who checked the day after and made sure they didn't.

Like today.

The bus would be coming soon.

Rainy's nose wrinkles as she took in this new stranger. He had a straggly brown beard that reached his mid-throat, matching matted hair, and the air (literally) of a stoner. He was one of the men a part of the group her mother was, no doubt. Washed-out shirt, matching ripped jeans, and a pair of dark shades hid his eyes. She knew he had been the one who caused the smoke in the hallway.

He isn't her father.

He didn't look surprise upon her entrance, so she figured he was innocent enough, having yet to prove himself a thief.

Rainy is still holding the handle of her umbrella as they made eye contact. There was a beat of awkward silence.

"So yer the kid here?" Light country accent. This was a new one. Though his tone was light-hearted and even kind, Rainy still took a step backward. He sounds bored, and that was dangerous. The stranger waves, other hand on his hip. "Name's Bear. Sorry if we woke ya up last night. Ya know yer a lucky lil' lady for her to be yer ma...since daughters usually grow up to be like 'em." He chuckles, proud of himself at his disgusting joke, and winks. "She's a real MILF, you know. And I'm sure your gonna grown up to be like her." He smiles, speaking it as if she should be privileged, before looking her over. "You sure are pretty enough, and on your way already."

She doesn't respond.

"Yer Rain, right? Or somethin' like that. Donna talked a lot 'bout 'cha."

To her, he was making a fruitless attempt at conversing.

PIG ㈅5

The man—Bear—then steps closer. "Yer kinda cute, ya know..." He reaches for her chin but she steps back out of reach. This time she hopes she was frowning.

She spat a response to him, and he straightens his stance, taken aback.

Luckily, her mother had called him then, announcing to me eat. Bear gave a last bewildered look to the younger girl before leaving to the kitchen. Rainy glances over once to see him take a plate and hear him voice: "that kid of yours is weird."

And her mother groans for the umpteenth time. "I know, I know. I'll have to have a talk with her..."

Rainy knew that they would thank each other and he would leave, that their guest room would still have a slight stench of him and her mother would wash everything. That there was half a chance he would never come back again, but more than likely not, and she checked her pocket to make sure she had the key to her bedroom before walking out the door.

Only when she heard the bus pull up outside did her mother remember that she had forgotten to give her daughter her lunch.

**. . .  
. . .**

It is a known fact that Rainy is not the sociable type. Never since some time at the end of middle school. This is evident in a variety of ways: the most prominent and supposedly obvious are the various books she brings or the way she carries herself. It's not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that makes one think that if you were to try to talk to her, there's a likely chance it wouldn't end nicely. But this isn't entirely her fault—she just became like this, falling into this hole after years of trial and failure.

She tries to avoid any conversation whatsoever, unless with those she knows well, because conversation usually led to physical contact and physical contact was something she couldn't sync with. She has acquired a name for herself among the boys who have been the victims of her tongue-lashes.

But then, there was also Sherry.

Sheryl "Sherry" Addams  
Gender, Female.  
Wavy strawberry blonde hair.  
Hazel eyes.  
Various colored star-shaped hair clips.  
Birthday, September 28.  
Caucasian American-born citizen.

Sherry Addams is a cheery girl who has difficulty keeping secrets, and even more with knowing what to filter in conversation and when to stop one. Though Rainy has known the girl since moving here, she had cared for her and both regard each other as friends. But it was also Sherry who helped push Rainy's now-reputation into existence.

Now, don't get it wrong—Rainy does consider the girl a friend. But this is also why whenever she does come, Rainy drifts to Michelle, another classmate whose signature is wearing a scarf at the base of her all-natural afro.

Michelle waves from across the room as Rainy enters the class, and she reminds herself to do the same. She forces a smile, or what she thinks is a smile, approaching her friend.

The door made a slight swooshing sound as she opens it.

Michelle White.  
Gender, Female.  
Tight curls, dark brown hair.  
Dark brown eyes.  
Always wears a silk scarf as a headband.  
Birthday, April 2.  
African-American American American-born citizen.

The classroom is self-divided into obvious cliques, a cliché Rainy is familiar with. There were the kids who thought of themselves as the best, there were the athletes, those with minimal academic performance, and the rest just fell in-between somewhere. Such as was Michelle who was a part of the shrinking crowd of disco fans born a generation late.

Michelle is already chatting away, Rainy sees as she approaches.

Michelle pulls her into a hug and is hyped to tell of an upcoming party approaching at a kid named Jonathan Montgomery's house.

Rainy declines the offer; she always does. And Michelle frowns, voicing just that.

"No. I don't do parties."

Michelle pouts. "That's what you always say."

"And that's what I always will." Rainy sets her back near her desk. "Unless—by some miracle—some life-alternating event happens that changes my mind." It was an ironic situation.

"You're starting to be a real buzzkill."

Michelle didn't know how much truth was spoken behind those words. To her, Rainy was one of those who promoted parties but never attended. But the brunette had enough reason to not go. There have been events where she was supposed to be excited, happy even, and she just...couldn't. But because of her condition, she stopped going, not seeing the reason to be there when she couldn't get in the mood.

"Well, one of these days, I'm gonna make you," and Michelle smirks.

Rainy nodes. "Sure, whatever you say."

*BELL RING*

"Sit down"

The school building was a large, two-story, pasty white with a single flagpole on the front lawn that was graffitied on every inch under six feet. Only the mob of students on the grass and the red bricks that garnished the front left wing provided color. That, and the art wing, which was a pale yellow blotch ornamented with paint splatter, finger art, and random posters taped to the wall. Everything else was uniform, unchanging, plain.

UNIFORM

PLAIN

ORDER

SAME

BORING

Nothing's changed  
The same immature parents

This school  
with the same people she's heard of since junior high.

There was nothing interesting in this town that she could see.  
The most people were interested in were politics

And those were adults.

Those around her were too focused on fashion, music, arts, drugs,  
Things she couldn't get into but wished.

Black pause scene

The teacher walks in as the attendance bell rings, a signal that class is beginning. Rainy watches silently as the man hurries in with arms full of worksheets and folders, pausing promptly to shove his glasses back up his nose..

The teacher sighs and calls for the class' attention as he looks through his folders for a set of papers. It took several tries until successful getting the students to quiet, and even then there was still chatter. This was his third day of this week and his patience is running low.

A trio of boys seated near the front of the class next to the window laugh hysterically. This caught the man's attention but neither of them paid attention. One of them pulled something from his pocket but Rainy couldn't see it from her desk. The boy's tabletop shook as the adult at the front of the room slams his hands down on the desk, fed up.

"Next time I see that hat, Jason, it's mine!"

"Thomas, enough! Turn around to the front! Now!"

"Peter, stop talking!"

Jason quickly swipes the baseball cap off, exposing his brown mess. The three turn forward, emitting sounds of stifled laughter. It wasn't the first time they've been scolded. No, not by a long shot. It was these three who were the troubling ones in the class, the "joksters;" it was these three whom the substitute yells at the most.

A girl in a pink skirt rolls her eyes. One of the other boys winks at her and puckers his lips in a silent kiss her way. Her nose wrinkles and she scoffs, unimpressed.

It takes another minute for the noise to lower again to talking volume.

"Alright class!" The teacher calls for attention again and reminds them that a group lab assignment will be performed today. He begins writing directions on the chalkboard.

The trio of boys smirk at each other, already knowing who will be in their partners. Michelle looks to Rainy, and she knew that both were to choose each other as partners again. Similar glances and silent affirmations were being exchanged across the classroom.

The man crosses his arms. Chalk-dusted hands were placed on his khaki-clad hips in an authoritative manner. "And this time, I'll be choosing who you work with."

The collection of crestfallen faces was amusing.

"And you better not slack off because this lab will count as much as an independent test grade." There were a few slackers in the room and he hoped to get rid of that.

A collection of groans follows.

Michelle twines her fingers under her chin, muttering a prayer, when the teacher picks up the clipboard and began randomly reading off names. Rainy watches her friend with a straight face. It wasn't long before her name was read aloud:

"Liam Osborn...Michelle White."

Michelle's jaw hangs open, her bangles making low jangling noises as her hands fell.

Then it was Rainy's turn. And she knew because the way the teacher's eyes drifted over the class and ran over her. The girl's emotionless expression didn't change. The teacher's finger slid over to her name and then calls out the second name his eyes fell upon that hadn't already been called.

"Rainy Capulet and...Pi...Pie...P—-" He scrunches his nose, knowing he was butchering the name. "Pedro Maximoff."

There was an almost snicker that wanted to sound in the air. If there had been for sure, Rainy didn't notice it.

Michelle sucks in a breath; Rainy's face didn't change—she had no clue who Pedro was. She glances at Michelle who is wearing a semi-pained turn of her lips.

She doesn't notice at first, but when Rainy looks around for the profile of her partner, she stares back at a boy who had been looking over his shoulder, watching her. Then, he's called to turn back around. He already has premature grey hair.

As she watched him, she remembers that she had seen him before: around the beginning of the year once when sitting with Michelle and others, dully listening to the conversation at hand. Rainy had gotten up to grab something from her bag—she shouldn't remember what is was—then when she had looked to the classroom door suddenly. It had been before class started and she couldn't remember exactly the reason either, except that he had frozen in the process of removing his headphones when she had seen him. He had had stood in the doorway, and that he was just staring at her—at least that's what she suspected.

He had just stared at her  
Like he was transfixed on something, she would have said  
But that would have been too bigoted of her to presume, she supposed

She stares back, a glare so intense.

She had been about to lash out a question

"What are you staring at?"

It would have come out harsher than intended

She turns away instead.

She never noticed him before after that, never made the effort to. She barely kept herself above normal with Michelle, Sherry, and the few others she stuck around. That boy was just always that person in your class you partially knew was there but for unknown reasons, you never spoke to.

He is the same person from last time

She makes a faint huffing sound.

So that is Pedro...

Her expression didn't change. She looks back to the teacher.

Nothing has ever changes here, none that she saw. The same obnoxious adults, the same students from middle school. People only care about politics, maintaining mutants, fashion, music, arts, and drugs. It was just...ordinary.

* * *

_**A/N: The next will be coming soon and will have more Peter (if you all would like).**_

**So, this oc character, Rainy, is rude, she's brash, unapologetic, to the point, and says exactly what she's thinking and doesn't much care otherwise; she seems to have a bitchy attitude but there's an honest and not-so-normal reason behind it. In fact, it breaks the laws of physics and it should be impossible to have happened.**

_**Replys:**_

_**to Miccacode: **I didn't know that my spelling might have bothered some, I apologize. I've gotten rid of it but tell me if I missed anything. I know I tend to misspell according to the mainstream—like, I tend to spell icecream as one word and neighbourhood instead of the American way (even though I'm born and raised American). Spelling "thru" and these other words are just the way I grew up spelling it, so it just stuck._

_**to Guest 1: (I'm sorry I don't know who's who with the many reviews just signed GUEST)**Thank you for reading! Really, I am! I'll try to update more frequently. But no, like I said in the A/N at the beginning, last "chapter" was supposed to come directly after the very first (I call it the trial chapter). This one is set MONTHS before the others. And I did win the battle! With a 92! (That's great for me because I am practically illiterate in math 'XD )_

_**to lisamariem: **I'm honestly not sure if I should SAY where the story is going just yet. (Wouldn't that ruin it, especially for the readers? Because I already have a sort of sequel planned, though that all depends if this one goes well, of course.) Well, unless I'm speaking to a Co-writer. So I'm not sure if can answer your question. And yes, I do plan to have the wonderful Professor X appear; I can't say for sure about Magneto though just yet of exactly how, though I do hope. Why? (below answers it)  
_

_**to all readers / reviewers:** I forgot to mention, this story can run on reader's choice. As in, if there's something you want to see in here—a scene, an event, a ship (if I can do it), I'll see if I can work it's way into here. Because I want writing this to bring enjoyment to myself as well as readers. :)_


	5. Chapter 2: Rainy Reptile II

**A/N: These next two chapters were originally planned to be one but it's split because it became too long.**

**So, this oc character, Rainy, is rude, she's brash, unapologetic, to the point, and says exactly what she's thinking and doesn't much care otherwise; she seems to have a bitchy attitude but there's an honest and not-so-normal reason behind it. In fact, it breaks the laws of physics.**

* * *

Michelle inhales sharply, her face all but speaking her thoughts: "oooh," and "sucks for you!"

"Come pick up a directions sheet, each of you, before going to the stations. If you don't, whoever blows up the school will be at blame, shamed all over the news, and I will fail you." Mr. Trevelyan is around his mid-thirties, lamppost-like stature, and brown locks always slicked back to not fall in front of his glasses. He almost always wears a mildly irritated frown in this class.

Pietro's hand shoots up and he respondes without waiting to be called upon. "But isn't that inevitable, Teach? The fail part I mean. Plus who wouldn't want to have a shot to on tv even if it's the news? Am I right?" He earns a few snickers and he grins.

Mr. Trevelyn is not amused.

"Enough, smart-alic." Then to the class, "Now—everyone—get to work! When you get to the part involving the acid, call me. One of them is diluted, but only a little." The man then sighs as he collapses into his desk chair, and begins messaging his temples before passing out last week's test.

Across the classroom, papers rustle and chairs screech across the floor. Still there were grumbles of disagreement among the students who weren't fond of their lab partners. This was most of the class.

Rainy stood with Michelle, both then quickly slinking to blend in with the small disperse of students.

The three troublemakers frown, each picking at each other's assigned partners.

"I can't believe I'm stuck with Turner! Turner!" one whines. "You lucky bastard! You get Clarice; I get a snot-nosed dweeb."

Thomas snickers. He's the only one with jet black hair styled in a buzzcut. He cheers, "hella yeah,"and puffs out his chest

"With you, you can just copy notes and not do anything," he sounds a bit jealous.

The third, Jason, turns to Pietro—Peter to them. "Of course you're one to talk, Pete! You got it the worst—Miss Frigid. Ha! It was nice knowing ya!"

Pietro sneers.

"You're goin' down, dude," Thomas laughs. "And in science class!? Good luck!"

Science wasn't Pietro's strongest subject...

"Boys!"

The three turn to attention.

"This isn't a contest. Either get to the lab stations or the Dean's. Your choice."

Jason's eyes widen.

Thomas snickers one last time, being the first to stand. "Looks like your lady's already leaving you. Best go on," he jokes to Pietro.

The other stands. He watches Rainy walk off with Michelle and sit at lab stations parallel to each other.

Thomas stretches, cracks is knuckles and wears a smug grin. "And my nerd seems to have already begun our work. I'd better go help him," Thomas speaks sarcastically, knowing the teacher is listening.

Jason mutters under his breath, grabbing a direction sheet as he too left. Clarice, Jason's assigned partner, was indeed pretty-looking, but she is also one of those who wore a pompous attitude for all to see. She is spoiled and her attitude didn't correspond with her nice looks.

At the lab tables, Michelle leans across the walkway, and closer to Rainy's table. "Girl, I am so sorry. It must suck." She motions for Liam Osborn, waving her hand for him to meet her. He was already at another table but she refuses to move, and after moments of the two glaring each other down, both stubborn, he finally stands to move.

"What does?"

"Being stuck with one of them." Michelle squints. "They're so weird," she added.

Rainy didn't ask for further clarification seeing Michelle's partner approach and the growing quiet. Rainy turns without another thought and begins taking out the equipment from in the cabinet under tabletop.

"I just feel kinda bad for you. I hear he's a bit of a slacker."

Liam sits down across from Michelle and she goes quiet. A look of impassive detest displays across her face. And Liam is no better—it was known that he is very bossy, and arrogant, and Michelle knows this from being stuck with him throughout all this yer and last.

Back at the other table, Rainy reads over the directions once more. She takes out the few necessary equipment and is going to start whether her partner is here or not. It feels like minutes until the stool across from her screeches across the floor. "Did you get the directions?" she asks without looking up from the cabinet. There is a pause while the footsteps left and return along with the flutter of paper landing on the tabletop.

STOOL

SCREEEECH

"Hey"

Rainy doesn't look up. "The first step says to measure hydrochloric acid and acetic acid into two separate flasks and get the combined weight of each." She closes the cabinet and sets two glass flasks on the hard tabletop.

The boy sees that she has already gotten the chemicals and tools scattered. He watches her begin the assignment, not sure whether to ask or sit and watch.

Rainy focuses on doing her portion of the assignment; still, she hadn't looked up, concentrating more on finishing as soon as possible; and isn't going to waste her time waiting on someone who couldn't follow directions or who slackes. She doesn't care if she were to be scolded for not "working as partners."

Pietro watches her set up the Bunsen burner. When he began leaning closer, her eyes snaps up, and she barks, "Don't. Don't touch me." The test tube holders in her hand suddenly point his way.

There was a brief pause as he sits back. "Dang! I was just going to ask a question!"

"Then you can ask me from there," she speaks coolly.

He resists the urge to poke his lip just the slightest. He watches her measure and weigh different liquids on a small scale, scribbles on the worksheet, and then pour metal scraps into a flask. He begins fidgeting with the striker. "So what's the first step?"

She measures a pale yellowish liquid in a small beaker—acetic acid with dye—before pointing at his abandoned paper near his elbow. Well, there goes that attempt at conversation...

Pietro turns over the page, skimming the directions and objective. "What the hell is...endothermic reaction?"

"Wow, you really don't know anything, do you?"

Ouch

"It was covered in almost in the entire class yesterday. The only way you would not know is if they weren't here, or asleep. ...But then that would qualify you as a slacker, as I've been told. ...I've heard that there were a few major slackers in this class, specifically those wearing blue plaid and orange sweaters. Would you be clumped together in that group; are you a slacker, Pe...Pedro..?"

Pietro looks down at himself, remembering he was wearing an orange sweater over a plaid shirt...

He glares at her. There was no way he had seen such a response coming; his brows raise in attention. "Ruuuude."

She doesn't seem like she's paying his any attention, so he rambles on.

"And here I was trying to start a friendly conversation. You know, not a lot of people think being near you is quite healthy either, and I can start see how. And here I was trying to be nice, but nope. And for your information, I can't help it that science isn't my strongest class." He cringes inwardly at that admission.

The speed at which he spoke makes her glance over. "Hm." She poured a white powder into a flaccid balloon and she continues to appear impassive, and placid. "Well, forgive me, Pedro. I'm not used to other people. Especially those who might look suspicious or possibly be mistaken as being older than they really are...and unless they've possibly flunked a few times."

"Older than they—-really?!" He doesn't know how to take that offense.

"That's what I said," she click her tongue. "Now bring that HCL over here, will you?"

"Do you always go around biting people's heads off like this? You know that'd be a good name for you: head-biter. Or mood-killer. Or Miss Mean. How about Ice Queen?" His speech was beginning to speed up again. "You know you're popular and known as Miss Frigid. I made that one up myself."

"I thought dogs had a heightened sense of hearing..." she mutters, then louder, "if you don't want to fail this assignment—because I won't, I assure you—hand me the hydrochloric acid so I can do this next part. It's in that large beaker next to the water filter over there. Fill that other flask here with it." She reaches out her hand and flexes her fingers, indicating for him to do so. When he turns to obey, she adds, with a smirking tone under her breath, "that's a big boy."

"What are you, my mom?" He purposely holds the beaker just out of reach from her hand when he returns. His eyes narrow at her but it wasn't from anger, but more from calculating. The small flasks is filled halfway with the clear acidic liquid. "'Big boy,'" he scoffs upon his return, "I'm probably older than you!"

"Funny. Now give it here."

"Give what here?"

Now she was staring at him again. He was pushing her buttons on purpose, she knew. "You know if you keep acting like that, people might actually believe you aren't so bright."

Was she asking for a fight?

"Plus, keep playing with that and you'll get in trouble for the both of us," she appoints about the flask. "That stuff is toxic so I can't say if Mr. Trevelyan will kick you out for playing around, but it can burn." Their teacher had a low tolerance for misplay, especially in labs. "I mean, there are people here with worse attitudes than yours and who are perhaps even more careless...so I suppose that isn't something to be too worried about..."

Why did it seem like she was singling him out?

"I wish my mother could hear that—that there are people with worse attitudes than me. I don't think she'd believe it. I'm fairly certain that she's under the impression that I'm the worst." It was said in a low undertone as he breaths and takes his seat again.

Rainy watches Pietro glance in the direction of one of his friends.

"Hm—interesting," she lies. When she was sure he wasn't paying attention, she snatches the small beaker from him. A little of it spilled on her, and she doesn't notice, beginning to finish the assignment.

"You know, if you can spare the attitude, you'll save the both of us."

Rainy barks a laugh. It held no feeling. "Oh, Pedro," her tone suddenly dropped several octavals, "...if you only knew."

His brows knit together. He itches to ask, to blurt out "knew what," but after their brief introduction, he second-thought about just how to interact with this girl. He's spoken to her only once before in a brief hello and has only seen her from afar, but never did he expect to be hit with such verbal assaults. His mind races, looking for a decent response or brutal comeback.

"Like I said before, I'm just not used to such interaction," she told, partially lying. She doesn't look away from the container on the Bunsen burner in front of her. "Actually, I lied. I'm just not having a good day." The way she spoke was so calm, as if she wasn't worried, wasn't frustrated or angered.

Pietro watches silently as she pours one chemical, mixing the two. She measures something here and added some of the concoction to a flask with metal fragments there before setting it on the burner.

SILENT OBSERVATION

"It's really uncomfortable being stared at, you know. There's a window across the room that has been lonely for attention." She points, gaze focus on the experiment at hand.

Here we go...

"Ok you...you...Ray...whatever your name is! What's with this flaying me like a fish much? Do you have any idea what you're saying anyway—well of course you do—but man, it isn't quite nice you know. It bruises. You sound like a debater, are you a debater? Because I thought about being on the debate team once but thought against it. You must know some of those on the team then, since you're one of them, aren't you? Do you ever talk to them this way? I bet you must to those you go up against with the way you're talking. Bet you make them fell bad, real bad. Hey, have you made any of them cry? Because I don't doubt you could. You can easily drive someone away with the way you are right now—that's what others have said about you too. But I try not to judge too much by looks alone, you know. But that quickly went out the window now, with you kinda rude too. I bet if your mom heard you talking like this she wouldn't be so proud. Really, are you not ashamed of yourself? Has anyone ever told you that?"

She watches him ramble without the slightest change in her expression. And she remains cool and collected.

He talks a lot but he has guts. Not many of those who came up to her last this long, and the boys in particular, she notices. Though to be fair, those had been were the ones who hung around the girls who bought pricey mani-pedis and wore expensive accessories.

Though Rainy heard Pietro's words and knew they held sentiment, little of it registers to her. "Why would I be ashamed of myself? This acquires just what I want: for time alone and not be crowded by so many people constantly, especially the useless kind. What about you? You tend to have made a hobby of irritating the teacher."

Pietro grins a little. "It's my specialty." It was a joke. "Actually, one of them."

Rainy pauses, watching the chemical reaction with the metal pieces in one container in front of them.

"You must be special then because not many can get Mr. Trevelyan's feathers ruffled," she complements. She doesn't smile but there was still some meaning behind her words and weren't entirely sarcasm.

His grin grows. "Special? Well, something like that." He catches her looking to her sides for something and he hands her the stirring rod she overlooked on the tabletop.

He watches Rainy tie a limp balloon to the mouth of the flask and realizes she had basically completed the entire assignment herself. They watch the balloon begin to expand, and therefore finishing the lab assignment. She begins scribbling answers on her worksheet, completing all the questions.

"But really, do I look suspicious?"

"No, not you. I was just stating that as an example."

He looks around, noticing they were the first to finish. She voices this then as well.

Rainy slides the balloon-over-flask to his direction and begins putting away the materials, carrying a container to the sink; he moves over so she could shove away equipment into the cabinet in front of his knees. Pietro reaches to the middle of the table for the hydrochloric acid to hand to her, but as he turns, he doesn't see, and the glass bumps into her elbow.

He apologizes but she doesn't take notice, just glancing at him as she went to put away the unused metal fragments back in a plastic container on a low shelf. It isn't long until she returns that he realizes that her arm had been splashed in their collision and the skin on her lower arm was turning red.

Pietro's eyes widen.

That stuff was toxic, he remembers her saying. It was an acid after all.

"Hey, hey," he calls. He gestures to her arm. "Your arm—-it—-I—-don't you feel that!?"

Rainy follows his gaze to her arm. Pietro notices that her calm look doesn't change as she sits. But he doesn't miss that she tries to hide swiping the liquid off. Only when she glances back at him he feel that she was questioning him and skeptical.

He saw

Her calm expression doesn't change. "Now raise your hand for the teacher to come over since we're finished," she orders. She then stood, pausing briefly at the teacher's desk, and left the classroom.

Bumps were starting to form on the infected area. And despite how much she would not have liked it, Rainy knew he must have seen.

There is talk going around that Rainy Capulet is cold-blooded, and as a joke, has been compare to lizards and reptiles

Along with her offish personality.

Pietro could see where it came from

* * *

**_A/N: _****_I like Adam Fristoe from a show I've watched, so he can be the face claim for Mr. Trevelyan...? _****_Anyway, replies now because I need to get back to study:_**

**_to Raven: _**_I don't know whether you are just being nice or just so encouraging! Really, thank you so much! You are too nice. Gave me THAT much more confidence for my tests :) And thank you so much because I was so worried that last chapter was the beginning of the quality of this to decrease. As for each__chapter so far... *go worries in a corner.*_

**_to SimplyKelly: _**_To tell you the truth, I'm wanting to try some different elements in the story I haven't been able to touch on my other stories, and not only a different writing style. After all, this is the broad universe of Marvel, and this focused on in particular the world of X-Men where mutants haven't been particularly accepted yet and there is much controversy about them with normal humans..._


	6. Chapter 3: Chagrin

**_A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is overdue! It's been a more hectic passed several days than usual and it took me some time until I could feel emotionally fit to look over this and to continue writing. Please forgive me._**

**_I could say that this now focuses less on the oc Rainy (And in advance, if I do end up offending anyone, I apologize, and tell me if I do.) There is a time skip after the first part here that continues from last chapter._**

* * *

Rainy ran down the halls to the nearest restroom only after making sure the classroom door shut completely. After all, she didn't need any teacher coming after her and questioning what happened—didn't need anyone to. Because they would then find out what was wrong, and no one is supposed to find out.

She ran to the restroom sink, turned the water up high and began scrubbing at her arm. She tried to remember what had said, and what it had read on the hazardous IF THIS HAPPENS... label.

If hydrochloric acid comes in contact with eyes or skin, rinse with...

She couldn't remember.

Rainy grunted to herself and continued to scrub with the dispensable school liquid soap. How could she had been so careless, she scolded herself. She had been doing so well until now and couldn't understand how she just slipped up so easily. How could she have been so stupid? Her brows furrowed; she wanted to kick herself.

And in front of him of all people. He was some reckless classmate that she didn't know; she didn't need someone who didn't even know her spreading anymore rumors.

No one was supposed to know. She was to fix it all on her own...however she was to do that...

That guy, her lab partner—he would without a doubt go around blabbering it to the entire school. At least, that's what she thought he would do.

She was already being called weak and bitter and soulless;

She's had enough of it.

She wasn't weak, she wanted to prove.

She wasn't weak...

But no one was ever supposed to have seen that mess-up.

More so, she shouldn't have slipped up.

No one is supposed to see

No one was supposed to know

She'd have to do something about that Pedro Maximoff...

* * *

Sometime during the following few months, Mr. Trevelyan, their science teacher, is transferred to a higher grade at the town's eastern high school.

There were students who rejoiced at the news—those who hadn't held the best grades due to poor performance—and others held mild feelings, though knowing that there was a chance that they'd have him as a teacher again—whether he was a favorite or not. Rainy was one of those students.

Since that day of spilling acid on her arm in the classroom, Rainy began delving deeper into herself. She began refusing for new people grow close to her.

She kept those she knew as a tight group, letting no one new in  
Rainy didn't speak to Pietro again after that day. She couldn't even if she desired. It had been nearing the end of the school year anyhow, and that Pietro disappeared for that following week certainly helped.

Now, almost year later, she still lives in the same house as before. Rainy would still wake up on a school day, try to dress herself and catch the bus for school. She would usually see her parents on her way out now, whether it was one or both of them: Her father would normally be reading the paper about stocks or his progress in the election—yes, by now, he had enrolled in the run to become Bayville's next mayor; her mother would be doing...whatevershe would be doing at the moment, if she wasn't getting high or having a "next morning" event with another of those apart of the same group as she.

You could say that Rainy's life has remained quite the same

It is now a new year which is supposed to mean new beginnings.

It was no longer the beginning of the term, however.

Well, it still felt like it to some...

Rainy still met up with Michelle White and would see Sherry Addams when the strawberry blonde wasn't with her bubblegum and smiles friends; Rainy still spoke to the others she knew.

Things were normal

PLAIN

HALLWAY

A brunette grumbles to herself, twirling the combination lock, very frustrated. This has been the fifth time she's tried opening this darn contraption and her patience was on ice. She pauses, hoping a few deep breaths would calm herself. But still, as she tried once more and the lock not budging, she threw her fist down to her side and stamped a foot. And the lockers nearest her, including her own, swung open, the banging so loud in the hallway.

Conversation nearest pauses only for a moment as a few students look around, caught off guard.  
Wanda froze, also surprised and having jumped herself.

She quickly gathers what she needs from her now-open locker and hurries to class with her shoes scuffing along the floor. Her cheeks were a tinge pink.

It is an early a Tuesday morning—too early in Wanda's opinion. But being a student in school, she didn't have much choice. First period class would begin soon, she knew. A couple walks by—or who she guesses a couple—of a brunette boy in a letterman jacket with his arm around a curly brown-haired girl in high-waist pink jeans.

When Wanda hurries into class and slides in her seat, she takes a look around the room—half of them all were already here while the rest were beginning to file in as the morning bell neared. But still, as she watches each pass, she doesn't find what she is looking for, she doesn't catch sight of the familiar head of hair. But she doesn't frown this time and she doesn't become irritated nor begin memorizing the scold she would later give. Wanda looks around and doesn't see her brother yet, and she merely pushes her hair from her face and leans on her arms on the desktop.

She knew just as well as he that if he were to be late again, that would be five in a row and would grant him a seat in after-school punishment.

A part of Wanda worries about it…but the other said that this was all his own doing and not her problem. She knew if things got the worst, he'd arrive just as the bell would ring.

Her prediction wasn't far from the truth.

**. . .  
**

Pietro—Peter to those who didn't know him well—Maximoff, stood at the open door to his small suburban American home, book bag slugged over his shoulders and a grin on his face. He glances at his watch before focusing ahead, going over the mental map of his journey one more. He still has two minutes left according to his time. He looked left, down the road, and to the right. Certain there was no one watching, he places hands on the goggles on his forehead, sliding them in position.

"Showtime"

A second later, he was gone, speeding down the road quicker than the normal eye could see. He was thankful he had paid attention so many times on the drive back home.

Having overslept and his sister not coming downstairs to wake him, he was now late…theoretically late. But then again, he was never "late."

In his book

Pietro smiles to himself seeing the world pass by ever-slowly. He would make it to school in five minutes...or five in his time.

Bell ring

Wanda glances once more at the open classroom door.

Nope. No one walks through. She merely sighs; he was going to be late again.

She rolls her eyes. 'Of course.' Wanda sits back in her chair, pulling the red hood further over her head.  
The teacher at the front of the class today was a woman in a red dress and crinkled brows—a substitute until further notice. The woman leans against the long desk at the front of the room, rapping her manicured nails on the chipped, dark wood. She looks over the lesson plan left by the original teacher once more before she would begin the lesson for the day.

A small stack of papers rests on the desk near her hand, Wanda sees—homework to be given to their original teacher.

One more minute to be on time

As if on cue at the bell ring, Wanda catches a familiar streak of silver zip inside out the corner of her eye. And she groans to herself watching her brother slide into the room at the last literal second, hair a wild mess, hunched over as if to hide, hurrying inside with a biscuit in his mouth and already sliding his book bag off his arm. He rummages inside before pulling out three slightly crumpled worksheets. He mumbled something incoherent to the substitute through the biscuit sandwich in his mouth, already holding the worksheet homework outstretched to the woman.

The substitute slowly looks him up and down before taking the papers from him. A brow rises at his demeanor: all wrinkled shirt, un-pressed jeans, and wild grey hair. It was her first time teaching this class.

Unknowing to him, she wasn't one for tardiness. She orders him to take his seat, coincidentally, behind his sister.

Wanda waits until she feels his desk shake at his collapse in the chair to hiss, "where were you?"

His arms are folded and he leans forward. Wanda can hear his intake of breath near the back of her jacket; he waits until the teacher's back is turned before whispering back. "What do you think? Oh by the way, thanks for waking me up this morning, Wanda." His speech had quickened as the years went by and his abilities came out full-forced.

Wanda scoffs and glances over her shoulder. The biscuit sandwich hung from his teeth. She wasn't amused and rolls her eyes again. The look she gave was a question of the breakfast sandwich.

"I got hungry on the way. Chill."

The teacher turns to the class then. She fidgets with her brown ponytail on her shoulder, going on about something that had to do with the government's history—some part of the lesson for that day.

"Is that from Lucille's?" Wanda whispers, not daring to look back. She keeps her gaze focused on the teacher and scribbles notes in a notebook.

Pietro doesn't answer. Wanda feels a hot foil nudge her side. "Bacon and cheese."

Wanda smiles, hiding the sandwich in her lap until the substitutes turns her back again to take a bite.

**. . .  
****. . .**

The Maximoff twins—Peter and Wanda—neither are considered significant to the school. Not like the popular students or the athletes or those who excelled in most, if not all, classes. Many times, the twins were seen as just another face in the crowd, and were only pointed out by those who knew them, whether good or bad.

Well, that was partially true. Especially for Wanda.

Her brother on the other hand—

Kids can be so cruel

—It was a different story.

It wasn't intentional, having singled Pietro out from all the others. Some would say it was coincidental, and really, Thomas hadn't wanted it to happen. But for some, once there have been given the taste of the good life, it may be near impossible for them to come back.

It had been one day in school...

It had been caused by Clarice

Clarice Wilhelm is a temptress, a siren of the land, and little Thomas has fell under her spell. She offered him a chance to join their crowd, the "cool kids." She had been backed up with some of the most well-known names on campus when she came to confront him when he had been alone. Thomas had refused immediately, but still, many men fall prey to sirens.

She offered him fame

Wealth

And fortune

Clarice had told him that she had taken a liking to him that day after the lab assignment that year ago, cooing that he had looked "so smart" doing that experiment. She had wrapped her arms around him and he had smelled her scent and he was enthralled.

Sucking up

All he had to do was tell of an incident of the silver-haired boy, an embarrassing detail or memory or a rumor. That was all, and then the privileges would come raining, rapidly: parties, popularity, friends, awards of "the best smile" in the yearbook, girls, a possible position on a sports team.

All Thomas had to do was humiliate him

LAUGH

POINT

TAUNT

CROWD

LIE

In front of more than "a few"

Tables—life—can change in one instant

All it took was one day

Thomas's words had been twisted into what he hadn't intended, making him seem worse. He hadn't even said anything wrong, but left his words ineffective. It were the other boys around him who had drove the nail in deep, warping his words as he stood horrified.

Thomas was still accepted.

He had tried telling this to the grey-haired boy, but Pietro hadn't listened.

He set his hat on fire that day

A hat he had gotten with Pietro when the two had snuck into a local baseball game.

The two haven't talked since.

The minute the bell rang, the students hurried out of the classrooms like water from a spout, the substitute still calling out a remainder of the lesson after them.

Wanda blends in with the crowd quite effortlessly. Pietro waits until the stragglers are left in the classroom to stand from his chair. He slugs his bag over his shoulder lazily, and his eyes are still hooded as he pulls out his headset from his bag.

HEADPHONES

Students crowd the narrow halls in a rush to get to their destination.

When Pietro exits the class, he locks eyes with a raven-haired boy across the way. Pietro pauses, seeing him inside a semicircle of peers and laughing, smiling. The boy has been wearing glasses for several years now, and the other knew that they were around the same age; Pietro frowns. The boy raises his chin in a greeting that no one else was to pick up.

Pietro shrugs on his headphones and keeps walking, not even giving acknowledgement that he saw Jason or any of the other Honor Roll students.

Jason and Thomas and Peter had been friends years ago but—

But life happens.

CAFETERIA

"I don't know how humans manage to eat this stuff." Ronny sticks his tongue out in disgust, and watches the mystery mush drip from his spoon to his plastic tray.

"Dude, you're human too. And it looks more like mashed potatoes…" The girl, Meisha, beside him leans in close to her own tray of lunch food, investigating her own white dollop. It certainly looks like mashed potatoes…except for the smell—it didn't smell anything like potatoes she knew. She sat up. "Hey Peter, could you go get us some real food? Like, McDonald's or something?" She was nudging by the one at her side.

Peter has his arms folded under his chest, tray pushed and also untouched. Meisha frowns that he's still looking over his shoulder.

Meisha calls again. "Hey, Pete!"

This time he did turn to attention, large eyed and looking surprised.

"Did you hear a single word I said?"

He hadn't.

"What are you looking at?" Meisha looks around and proceeds to stand but the other motions for her to sit back down. And he hushes her. He doesn't want Thomas or any others to catch wind of him here—the last he knew, they were out on the field but Pietro wasn't sure and wore hood just in case.

"Whatcha so focused on then?" the other boy seating across asks. "The only things that you get so focused on is AC/DC and porno," he chuckles.

Peter turns back around. "Har har."

Reynold "Ronny" Di Gallo  
Gender, Male  
Dark hair, kept in a buzzcut  
Dark brown eyes  
Birthday, October 31  
Italian-American American-born citizen  
Mutation, Camouflage

Ronny drops his spoon to his plate and concludes that the only things he's managed to eat were the rewarmed vegetables and bread roll. At some corner of the cafeteria, a cards game was going on.

Pietro's eyes shifts between the two. "Do any of you know someone with the name Capulet?"

Ronny pushes his tray from in front of him. "Why?"

At the same time, Miesha spoke, sounding a little irritated: "is that who you were looking for?"

"Just answer the question already."

Both thought for a moment.

The three were the only at this table in the cafeteria. The three had chosen not to sit with anyone else, and others chose not to sit with them. It was a sort of silent territorial issue that is partially gained among any mass of people, and partially due to the social structure created. Burnouts don't sit with nerds, and the academics almost ever sit with the populars.

They were some of the school's "weirdoes"  
or geeks.

At least a few of those with that title

No one knew they were mutants  
Except each other  
It didn't stop the name-calling, however

"Someone in my gym class has that name," Miesha answers reluctantly. "I think her name is Blue Rain or something like that." She has a certain stare and almond eyes that many take as menacing. "Why?"

Ronny nodded. "The Juliet-girl," he adds, a pun the girl has acquired when the class had been assigned to take part in a reading of Romeo and Juliet. And the name just stuck.

"That's it!" Pietro snaps his fingers. "You know her?"

Miesha scrunches her face. "No. Why would I talk to her? What do you want with her?"

Miesha Babinski  
Gender, Female  
Long orange-red hair  
Light brown-hazel eyes  
One long braid the length to her thighs  
Birthday, April 5  
Biracial American-born citizen  
Mutation, Organic Constructs—Comakinetic

Pietro opens his mouth to answer but was cut off by Ronny. "That's her right there isn't it?" He points behind Peter. He smirks at seeing how quickly the other looks. "Since when were you so interested in her? What, we're not good enough for you?"

"No, she's…she just owes me, that's what." It is a lie.

Tables down was a girl with light brown hair and dark olive skin seated next to a tall boy in a jersey. The table seems to be engaged and abuzz. A girl in a short hair cut reaches across the table. The tall boy in the jersey lets out a loud laugh.

But Peter had turned around at the wrong time. And Ronny lowers his finger, locking eyes with the different tall young man who had been searching the room the same when Peter had, he audibly swallows.

"Um…" Ronny grows nervous. Peter's eyes widen.

Thomas smirks from the middle of the cafeteria. He speaks something to those near him before standing and marching over, several tall, intimidating teens following.

Don't make eye contact, he's temperamental

Pietro turns back. Ronny and Miesha watch as Thomas approaches. And when he does, he laughs, flexing his arms.

"Well, fellas. Look who we found."

Pietro could hear Thomas' voice less than a foot behind him.

"Hey! Fruitcake!"

Pietro stirs the potatoes on his tray, ignoring him. He still has the sweater hood over his head. "Go away, Thomas. I'm busy if you can't tell. Go find someone else to boast to; your ringleaders are already here. Or are you just cranky because they ran out of snacks at your exhibit yet?"

Thomas scowls. "You didn't seem like you were too busy then. And if I wanted anything to do with you, I would have just used your hair and make a spotlight reflect in the sky. I could page all the other wannabes I have to beat up. Your head's so big it just might work."

Pietro's hands clench.

"Nah, just kidding," Thomas lies. "Brett here," he points over his shoulder, "says he saw you messing with his girl last week. And when he confronted you about it, says he's now missing a piece for his jacket. ...You know anything about that?"

Pietro's nose scrunches. "A piece for his jacket?"

"Yeah, his jacket pins," one of the boys beside Thomas spoke up.

Pietro looks over his shoulder and his mouth opens. "Ohh. You mean jewelry? Like a brooch? Brett, I didn't know!" He's speaking in feigned astonishment. "You have good taste! But then…you are a gorgeous guy, so…" Behind Pietro, Meisha and Ronny look horrified. He smirks and calls the senior ball player "a babe." He continues blabbering. "You know there's a sale going on at that jewelry store in the mall. You can find the perfect gift for—if you role that way, Brett. I—"

"That's not what I meant!"

Thomas steps forward. "Look here. You like bling, don't you Peters, silver-dollop?" He mocks. "Now I'm going to give you until the count of three and if you don't have your head in that trash by then, I'm going to put you there myself." He raises a fist for emphasis.

"Go away Thomas, I don't know what you're talkin' about." Pietro turns back around. "And if Brett would learn to keep track of his things for once then maybe he would have also noticed how much he sucks on the team and that that chic he was with has been "talking" to some of those nerds on the math team."

"There's no way you'd know that!"

"Then why don't you go ask Brett then why he snuck into the girls' restroom with some floozy?"

Thomas' nose flares, but the anger dispersed a moment later. He smiled cynically. "Of course you'd know all that, wouldn't ya? You spying on people now, hoser? Now you've turned into some kind of creeper?" he irked.

Those at his side snicker.

Ronny feels his stomach falling.

"What? Next thing you know, you'll be tryna peek on me in my showers, huh?"

Pietro's head jerks forward as Thomas' hand whacks the back of his head. And Peter caught himself just before his face would be decorated with the food on his tray, but his brows were arched as the hot rage heating in his chest.

The chattering around them lowered when Peter stood from the chair rapidly, it screeching across the tile. His hood fell off from the force and speed.

"C'mon, Maximoff," Thomas coaxes.

Miesha speaks up then, still sitting, nowhere near brave like her friend. "You heard him; get out of—-"

"Shut up, weirdo!" The taller spat.

"Hey! Don't talk to her like that!" Pietro now glares back at the boy in a way one would have never thought he could possess for his ex-best friend. He leans from one foot to the other. "Whatcha gonna do, punch me?" He grins stiffly.

The taller slacks his jaw. The tension between the two could be sliced with a knife. "Hand it over, Maximoff."

"Chill out, dickwad. Hand what over? I told you I don't have—-"

Thomas jerks Pietro closer, bundling the shorter's dark jacket in his fists. "Hand it over, geek." Thomas had hit a somewhat growth spurt since the last he and Pietro talked, and he now stood inches taller than the young mutant. "A class pin. It's a diamond class pin."

Pietro's brows shoot up then.

By now, they earned a small crowd to watch the dispute.

"Oh, you must mean that little old fashion-looking brooch-thing 'bout this big?" Pietro held his fingers apart, indicating a small size. "What did his Grammy give it to him?" he mocks. His grey brows crease then as if he was just coming up with the thought. Or, it was just his true expression for the moment. "Yeah, I saw Milton with it a day ago I think...taking it to the pawn shop up the street from the skate park. It was a nice one too, just upset that I didn't get to it first."

Thomas was silent. Those flanking him didn't jump in. Pietro smiled wider, sarcastically, as if saying "see, stupid?"

The cafeteria was growing silent.

Thomas' hands loosen on Pietro's sweater, but he still give death glares to the grey-haired trickster.

Down the hall, a man's voice—a teacher—was coming towards the lunchroom. He was running, having been told a fight was breaking out.

Loudly, as if to make sure everyone heard, Pietro asks, "you know, you sound pretty upset about losing that diamond brooch. Are you sure it isn't yours?"

Thomas glares down at the other before Pietro's world explodes into stars. A loud crack sounds in the room of Thomas' forehead connecting to Pietro's just as two deans came in the lunchroom. Neither of the adults could figure out who exactly started the fight and so both boys were punished—one with a cracked ego, the other with a broken nose.

* * *

**_A/N: I originally made the bully confrontation a lot nastier than this._**

**_I feel like there was too much OOC-ness in this chapter, which I'm not proud of and apologize for. ... I'm not expecting any reviews for this so…_**


	7. Keep the Freaks In Cages

**_A/N: Do I have to put a warning that there will be mutant bashing in here? And given that at this time they aren't completely accepted? Well there is. In this chapter here. You've been warned._**

* * *

_"You built these weapons to destroy us. Why? Because you are afraid of our gifts...because we are different; because you fear that which is different."_

Rainy watched the television in silence playing the speech once over for the umpteenth time that month. She glances to her father who was seated, reading the paper once more. A pad with scribbled notes sat as his elbow. She chewed her food before asking him:

"What do you think of that; do you believe it?" The question was asked without opinion in her voice—just an empty question. She wanted to see what kind of person he was, now. Whether more than years were set between them.

"What? About that man with the helmet on tv?" He finally glances up from the paper, looking from the television, then to her before becoming obscured again. "No, I don't believe one bit of what that fluke is yammering on about. It's just a publicity stunt made by some freak who wants to become a big shot."

Rainy places her utensil down and stares in his direction as if she could see him past the many pages. "And why not?"

He turned a page. "Because things like that are an abomination. They don't belong here...or anywhere for that matter. All they do—what they've done—is cause more problems and trouble for us normal folk."

She remained silent for a second before asking, "so you think that being different is a bad thing? That it's something that can be controlled?"

"It is," he answered, "just by simply staying away from everyone else."

"So, they're evil...?"

"I believe so. Monstrosities. Abnormalities. Atrocities. Freaks. Whatever you want to call 'em—they're mistakes of God."

Rainy was silent. She sat speechless for quite some time, the only noises being the news anchors on the screen and the soft hum of the A/C. But her expression remained deadpanned. The quiet remained until her father took a loud slurped from his mug and folded the paper down to see her, asked:

"What made you ask that?" His gaze was solid, stern, and unwavering.

She had to determine her words carefully now. The conversation can take one of two turns now if the wrong thing was said.

"Have you ever _met _one?" she asked.

"You didn't answer my question, Rainy," he voice warning.

She just shrugged her shoulders in response. "I don't know."

He seemed to relax at that and straightened his paper. "No," he answers, "I've only met one once. It was a woman—a hideous woman with yellow, scaly-like skin and glowing eyes—at my job before, once. She had broken in and had done something to the guards, something with her eyes, I think, since they were glowing; she did something that killed them. She took one look at those men and they just fell to the floor. And then, she had come and tried to kill _me_. We all had to be told by the paramedics that those men had _died_. There had been something like a yellow patch of skin, almost like a mark, on their throats that were beginning to grow scales—I guess that's where she had stared at them, had used her..._"power_._"_ And just imagine that if just one of those things could take out two floors of fully-grown, armed men, what if there are more dangerous, worse ones out there?"

Rainy could tell that by the way he was staring at her as he talked, that in a way, he was trying to convince her as well.

"I've heard stories, too," her father added. "Some were about a woman who could rearrange her face and entire body, a man who could walk thru walls... Who's to say that one of them won't come into your home after a dispute, pretending to be one of your own family; or _poof _into a bank? Am I right?"

Rainy hesitated. She shrugged. "I don't know," she lied. "Sounds like you're basing this all off of one event and person."

"If someone you knew—if your grandmother were to be taken to the doctor's and died because of who was treating her care, wouldn't it only take one time until you become concerned of who's watching you, whose hands you placed your life in? Or if you're uncle were to be hit by a drunk driver; how many times would that take until you become convinced that driving while intoxicated is dangerous?"

Why did he have to put her grandmother in this? And her uncle?  
Bless their souls

"Those are two different things—those are events, not peop—-"

"It's the same exact thing, sweetie," he added the last bit to soften the blow. "Those _things_ are dangerous. And I just don't want you getting hurt," his tone softening at the end. It was similar to the same way he'd talk to her when she was small, when he would call about a picture she'd drawn or flowers she'd bring. But this time it was less sweet, less adoring.

He was also seeing her in a different light, as she was to him

The clip about the man in red helmet came back on the tv screen.

_"Well, I'm here to tell you—to tell the world—that you are right to fear us. We are the future. We are the ones that will inherit this Earth, and anyone who stands in our way will suffer the same fate as these men you see before you. Today was meant to be a display of your power...instead, I give you a glimpse of the devastation my race can unleash upon yours."_

"You see, what do you think of that? That's what I meant. _That's _what I'm trying to protect you and your mother from—psychos like that. Who's to say he wouldn't show up to town and try to take someone hostage for money or some _treaty_ to be made?"

Rainy paused, looking over her father who was still turned to the screen.

"He sounds like a man who's had enough."

_"Let this be a warning to the world—and to my mutant brothers and sisters out there, I say this: No more hiding, no more suffering. You have lived in the shadow of shame and fear for too long."_

Her father scoffed. "What's he got?"

Rainy tilted her head slightly. "From the way you're talking, it's like you've forgotten what Grandma and Grandpa had to go thru."

"My parents—your grandparents—never had to deal with such things," he snapped. He was growing frustrated, suspicious, by his tone.

Her voice remains calm still. "Not them; Mom's parents. Remember?"

Rainy's grandfather traveled to America from Europe and married her grandmother

Rainy is multiethnic

Her mother grew up with many hate crimes because of it

One of Rainy's grandparents had light, pale skin tone—  
Her grandfather—  
while the other was a creamy chocolate of the south—  
Her grandmother.

Her mother is biracial

She then has a grandfather who is of Hispanic and Caucasian ancestry, and a great-grandmother who is Native American—  
Rainy's father's parents.

Her father is "white"

Her father paused. "That's a completely different situation."

"How so?" she asked genuinely.

"They are like packing the destruction of a missile or bomb in one human body, that with one touch, can go off. Except with them, they can execute that power many times over again. They're a danger to themselves and those around." He looked her square in the eye. "Do you not get that," he squinted.

She didn't look away. "It sounds like the same thing Grandma and Grandpa went thru—similar—of people hating them for something beyond there control."

Her father sat back in the chair and folded his hands. That was never a good sign—whenever he folded his hands in that authority position, it meant that he was preparing to argue and debate, and he _rarely _backed down from his ground. "Don't tell me you're starting to feel _sorry _for them..."

Rainy watched his expression, debating how to go about answering him. She decided to just blurt her opinion. "I see them as people, not weapons of mass destruction."

"I never said that they would be used as weapons..." But it didn't seem like such a bad suggestion, he thought to himself.

"Okay, not _weapons_," she corrected herself, "But I don't see a different in them than us. They just are able to do things some can't. But surely not all of the possible abilities are dangerous."

"You don't think that the ability to make people toxically sick with the wave of an arm or shoot fire from one's hands _not _dangerous?"

On the television, a woman was speaking now. It was still covering the president assassination attempt by the man in the cape and helmet.

_"Come out, join me, fight together in the brotherhood of our kind; a new tomorrow...that starts today. "_

"The world would be safer—better—without wild things harming the defenseless every which way."

"You must feel very strongly about this." Her comment was truthful and without sarcasm.

"They belong in cages, if you ask me. Monsters deserve to be locked up."

PAUSE

"I heard from some place that it's possibly that people with those powers are the next step of evolution."

"Then they'll bring our extinction."

"Our?"

"Us normal folk."

She turned to him. "You really think that..?"

"Do you remember that Trask-guy? The man who invented those robots," he pointed to the screen with now showed several tall Sentinel robots. "There are many who believe the same thing as he did. Extinction is a basic law in evolution and has been proved many times over. _He _just predicted it and took action before anyone else did. Evolution has been key, but it's also dangerous."

"And it's unavoidable, right?"

Her father was silent, once again focused on his paper, finished with the conversation. The news changed to a different hot topic.

"..Then that'd just make us better," she concluded.

He ruffled a page. "I don't thing so, honey."

_She couldn't tell him that she thinks one had came into their home_

_Nope, definitely not_

.

* * *

**_A/N: Tell me if I'm going too far with this story and if I strike a few nerves. It's all unintentional, though. On a side note, the reason why some of these chapters aren't numbered is because, as said before, not all are in order. I'm publishing these chapters as the order they're written, so some will be present while others are the past. And again, any number and any kind of ideas, prompts, and suggestions are greatly appreciated._**

**_Ok so time for overdue reply to reviewers: _**_THANK YOU SO, SO, SO MUCH _**_moxiebird_**_ and _**_FanWriter83_**_. I'm really so happy that you like it. :) I do plan for this story to be complex—maybe not as much as The Matrix, but complex. Again, thank you so much :)_

**_to Raven: _**_you are just unbelievable. I smiled like a huge idiot while read this. All I can say right now is thanks so much because I'm smiling that much. But I'm taking what you said into consideration and will bring in more characters later on. And that little secret will be coming out in a few more chapters or so._

_But man, you have no idea how relieved I am to have these exams over now! ...Well, yes you do...but now I can update more, right? :) And admire? Aww...isn't that a bit much just yet? Given it's still the beginning of the story? (Gosh, I don't know! This is me not knowing how to accept a compliment.)_

_No need to hide anything, say whatever you want and however. I'm very welcoming to it. No need to hold back :D (as long as it's not flaming or threats, please...)_

**_to Miccacode: _**_Nahh, it's fine :) I hope you had fun, though :D I try to keep the writing and dialogue as realistic as possible, and of course, according to the Marvel universe, mainly the movies. And things being dragged out unnecessarily or not dragged out enough is one of the things that irritate me most in media too._

_But yeah, again, all apologies—it's fine. No worries. :)_


	8. Chapter 4: Insinuating

_**A/N: Internet is down at my place so I'm stranded to only being able to use my phone to upload for the time being. So I have to admit that I was a little bored when I wrote the second half of this, so it isn't as grand as what you may expect. And my head has been hurting and feeling cloudy these few past weeks so please don't be surprised if I go without updating for a week or two. This fourth of July break would be to clear my mind and get back into feeling better at writing.**_

* * *

Wanda's head turns in the direction of front door after hearing it bam open against the wall and then closed. She wasn't too surprised to find no one standing there behind her; she pauses, just listening, potato chips still raised halfway to her open and half-stuffed mouth. The house returns to silence until a low clatter echoes from the basement. Wanda sighs, reluctantly leaving her bag of chips and TV program to instigate. She keeps turning as she left, straining to hear and catch the last bits of the television as she turns to the stairs leading down to her brother's room. She'd call it more of a cave.

Wanda stood at the top of the stairs and held both arms out at the rails, making sure there wasn't a chance that he couldn't slip past without her knowledge. She raises her tone, calling his name at the top of the stairs, and immediately the noises below stop.

Right away, she knew that he was guilty of something.

Wanda rushes down the last few steps and her eyes narrow. She was expecting to maybe see a flurry of movement flash in front of her—maybe a few papers flutter in the air, maybe something sliding to a different location or crashing to the floor—but what she didn't expect when she got to the bottom was for him to be completely still, staring back at her.

Pietro was standing, slightly hunched over a small tabletop and completely stock-still, staring back at her from over his shoulder, eyes wide and hair a whirlwind. Something shone in his hand and Wanda's attention changed to that.

"What is that?"

He didn't answer her right away. His eyes shifted, obviously guilty. There was a thick wooden box in front of him that slams closed, the lock on it clicking in place.

The answer then came to her. Her eyes widen in fury, finger twitching, pointing at the piece of jewelry in his hand he tried to cover up. Her mouth gapes open and close in an accusation she couldn't find the words for.

Pietro turns to her, folding his hands behind his back. "I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe try using words, that would help."

Wanda soon found her words and she gasps, "you didn't...!"

He raises a hand in surrender. "Whatever you're accusing me for, I didn't do it! I've been good, for once." He tries to hide the cocky smile forming on his face but failes tremendously.

Wanda huffs, becoming angry and stomping across the floor to stand toe to toe with him. Pietro's smile diminishes. She grabs his hand and brought it up to both's eye level. A large diamond pin glistened between his fingers.

"Really? You didn't do it? Then who's is this? 'Cause last thing I knew, you aren't graduating in a year." It was a class pin assigned to someone who would be graduating that school year. "Whose is this?"

"I don't know—yours? Some lady who dropped it and left it on the ground? Some guy who was feeling generous?" He spoke quickly, sarcastically. The smile was gone completely now. "Which do you think Marya would believe more?"

Wanda's eyes narrow to dangerous slits. "I think she would believe that your need to "burn energy" and your sticky fingers have reached its limit."

His face fell. "Please don't tell Marya," he whimpers.

Wanda looks him up and down, and he now looks regretful. His wrist lies limp in defeat inside her hold.

It took her a while and some consideration, but she eventually mutters, "ok. Fine." And grunts. "She's gonna find out either way, so I'd rather not be involved in yet another round of both of your dispute." She sighed. She slips her fingers into his hand, taking the pin from his grasp. "But you're gonna have to return this."

Pietro sucks in a breath air between his teeth. "What if I told you that wasn't exactly possible...?"

Wanda raises an eyebrow.

As he continues, his words beginning to tumble together due to speed. "...That the guy who had had it wanted to pummel me into the floor—that plus he isn't even exactly going to be in school for some time..." He then rambling on something about football is all she got afterward. He then falls quiet.

Wanda blinks.

"You're still going to have to get rid of it, eventually."

"Eventually is relative."

Wanda notices the small, yet sure grin spreading his cheeks and the dangerous glint in his eyes that arrives. She slides the pin into her jacket pocket, making sure to keep her hand around it less he tried to pick it from her.

"Besides," he continued, "that was going to be our ticket for that fancy dinner Marya's been wanting. Plus you." He pauses before pointing at the hand in her pocket. That mischievous grin of his began to slowly return.

Wanda takes several steps back. "No, Pietro." She would have to sleep with the pin under her pillow tonight, she supposed, knowing he would try to take it from her at any opportunity.

The grin on his face grew dangerous.

"Oh yes, mala sestra."

"Pietro..." Her voice warns, sounding wary. It then clicked to her and she then understood the glint in his eyes and her stomach drops. Wanda's eyes widen. Her grip on the pin tightens. "Stay away from me!"

Pietro just steps closer, smiling crazily, fingers raising in front of him and tickling the air.

"I swear to you, vi nakaza." She took a step back, raising a finger at his chest and almost stumbles backwards. "I won't go easy on you!"

"Oh please! Like you can even control your power!"

He then lurks toward her and making her shriek. Wanda flies up the stairs. His echoing laughter seems to mock her.

Running was useless

Wanda glances over her shoulder and sees he hadn't followed. She runs up from the basement and turns the corner to the hallway to her room as fast as she could. She chose the mistake to slow and takes another glance behind her, saw as a blur of grey collided into her side.

Wanda screams, hitting the floor.

When Marya Maximoff returns home, she's welcomed by a sight she neither expects nor has seen in years, though slightly altered and slightly odd.

The woman was met by Wanda in tears on the living room floor as the girl reaches a hand up for mercy, her brother still on top and tormenting her. He zips from her arms to her waist to her feet. Wanda screams, pleading in her mother tongue.

Wanda hates being tickled

Pietro had been tickling Wanda for longer than any took account for.

Marya's daughter squirms in her arms, throwing her arms in the air. "I wanna play"

* * *

"Yes. Yes, here." Michelle smiles.

Rainy's frown didn't change; that was the smile Michelle wears whenever she has an idea knowing Rainy wouldn't particularly be accepting to. But then again, the girl was rarely accepting to anything.

"Why?"

"Because you need the help."

"Says who?"

"Says everyone," Michelle exaggerates. She's searching through the many shirts and long skirts that hung in Rainy's bedroom closet. There was a surprising amount of tie-dye that she didn't know the girl owned. "And are you going to be able to be free this weekend?" Michelle looks over a knee-length grey skirt for a moment before tossing it over her shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

Michelle only smiles. She glances over her shoulder at her friend sitting on the end of her bed. "Yes I do." That large smile was there again. "How long it's been? ...Two years for us? ...You'll thank me later, girl. Trust me."

Rainy wasn't going to correct her that they've been friends for only over a full year now, not two. She wouldn't have had a chance to get more clothes if it weren't for Michelle, and honestly, she preferred that the girl had come over.

Michelle tosses several more bad clothing choices over her shoulder.

"No, not that." Rainy calls, seeing a sweater fall among the pile of rejects. She walks, grabbing it from the floor. "Not this one."

Michelle pauses. "Why?"

Rainy hesitates. "Just...not this one."

Michelle raises a brow.

Rainy wouldn't tell her, but that was the last thing she wore before she was changed

It was the last piece she had of her stolen memories

Michelle sighs exaggeratedly, giving in. Her lime green bangles clatter as she resumes cleaning out Rainy's closet. "Make sure you're free this weekend, alright? Oh, and Sherry Addams wanted to talked to you about something yesterday. She wouldn't stop bugging me about it." Another tye-dye shirt was added to the reject pile. Most were homemade and not by Rainy. Luckily, neither parent was home when Michelle arrived.

Rainy mumbles into the sweater. It was curled around her arms that now rested on her bent knees at the edge of her bed. She knew that Michelle planned to take her to the mall. And it wasn't the first time her friend spoke of doing it. And honestly, Rainy knew that she didn't have the best clothes—that comes with parents who either spend spare money on business or blow it on personal luxuries.

But then again  
it's maybe because she never spoke up about it?

Either way, Michelle had gotten the gist of it even without knowing the exact details

"What does she want—Sherry?" Rainy asks, watching a collection of hand-me-downs hit the floor.

"I don't know." Michelle shrugs. "She's your friend."

That part was true; Michelle and Sheryl, though both friends of the brunette, were two different people. Both rarely interacted with the other, and Rainy was left to whomever would pull her in their groups for however long that day, if even.

"I didn't ask anything else because I didn't want to be stuck hearing her yammering on and on." The comment was said bitterly and low to where it was easily misinterpreted. "Oh, this is cute!" Michelle holds up a bright green cropped top.

Rainy smirks. It came out quite bitterly. "What's with you and green," she tries to joke.

Michelle smiles cheekily. It was her favourite colors, Rainy remembers.

Now, it were days like this that she had to admit that she enjoyed, that were more relaxing. Rainy has tried—she attempts too hard to appear normal that it grew tiresome—and it were days like this that she was grateful to not have to be on guard constantly. It was when there weren't much to worry about, with more time to herself and less nonsense and drama to dance and lie around.

Rainy didn't get this a lot.

In between school, the time spent with those she calls friends, and being dragged to meetings and conferences by her father's campaign, peace and quiet came rare to the girl. That's probably why she was didn't put up an argue to go and confront the bubbly strawberry blonde the next day at school.

**. . .**

Sherry attaches to Rainy's arm when the other walks in the next day. Before she had a chance to open her mouth, Sherry was already chatting away about some babbling or another, the conversation quickly changing from a planned agenda to stuffed pandas from state fairs given as gifts to what she had for breakfast. Of course at this point, Rainy was barely listening.

The current class was English And Writing, and this class in particular was known for being one of the most rambunctious out of them all. That there were more talkative and rowdy students lumped together in this class than others could be thanked for that. It were those in particular who thought it fun to poke fun at others around and mock the teacher until his pink face blushed and he was ready to shout.

It was like two sides competing in battle of who could be the larger ass

The class didn't get many privileges because of this

Those teams included some who considered themselves "big shots"

and a few who wore a black jacket, one with neon sneakers, and another with grey hair

Rainy looks up seeing Mr. Moore walking in the class. He places three large novels on his desk before moving to the podium at the front of the room.

From her seat, Rainy was able to see most of the classroom. Her gaze glances over the room. Almost everyone was talking among themselves. Then, her eyes fell upon a pair staring back at her—or in her general direction—from over his shoulder near the far right corner of the room. He had been placed there by the teacher himself. The boy with grey hair raises a brow at her slightly as he continued talking amongst those near him and Rainy's frown is prominent on her face. Those that boy spoke with chuckle at a joke.

Why was he even staring in her general direction? What was it about her that he had to whisper to them? Rainy rolls her eyes, trying to make it clear in her body language that she didn't want anything to do with him, and turns back forward to the front of the room. Sherry was still chatting away in her ear.

The boy watches Rainy for several seconds longer before he too turns forward again, sucking his lip and eyes widening in an unspoken, negative comment.

Wanda shook her head to herself from the back of the room.

Mr. Moore waits at his podium and the late bell rings. It takes almost two minutes for the classroom to begin lowering its voices—or as low as it would get. Mr. Moore has a very brassy voice so it wasn't difficult to talk over the students. He orders for all to get out a paper and pen—today the class was going to begin touching on classic literature.

Most in the room either groan or begin complaining. The few who remained silent were Rainy and a girl with brown hair wearing a red hood.

Someone spoke out that they needn't do that again since they already have Juliet, from Shakespeare's work, sitting here with them. It had been meant for Rainy.

"Get into groups and you all will read the passages assigned and discuss the meaning among each other."

The class began to calm.

"And I will be assigning groups to make sure less of you all goof off."

The complaining returns.

Why did every teacher seem to like assigning groups?

Rainy listens silently as Moore's finger points and assigns groups at random. After, he informs the assigned work. After more talking and then taking role-call, desks and chairs screech as the groups came together.

Rainy is grouped with Sherry

She knew that she was of the few that the teacher liked

(but not favored)

due to quiet attitude and high performance

"Well at least we got paired together, right?" Sherry tries, and not waiting for an answer, "I don't know anything about...Lambourough...?" She tries to read the name in the textbook on the assigned page. "Never even heard of anything of these he wrote, have you? I can't even understand a single word here..." She now mumbles to herself, looking completely sullen.

Rainy knew that the other was getting tutored for this but kept silent. School hasn't been in particularly difficult for her, given that it was the only thing she had a purpose for spending her time on, and that she could never get into anything else.

No matter how hard she has tried

just nope

Rainy doesn't have any hobbies because of this

She does everything to keep herself busy so she isn't just sitting, waiting for the day to end

and then she was mostly ordered around by others...

that comes with being without, as she is

Sherry perks up as their two partners approach the two's desks Sherry had scooted together. The strawberry blonde continues with her wide smile as both boys bring a chair to sit across them, one with blonde curls. Sherry's smile widens and her eyes began to sparkle. Rainy looks over from her to the curly blonde boy and to the one with grey hair.

She stares in almost annoyance as the second lazily drags a chair and flops at the front of her desk. The boy with grey hair bit the inside of his cheek, looking on at the strawberry blonde in annoyance. The way he had brought the chair made it clear that this was the last place he wishes to be.

Rainy would have kicked him in the leg.

"Well, I'm Sherry..." She places a hand on her chest, clearly enjoying this.

A social butterfly was an understatement about her openness

Rainy doesn't realize she's glaring—and at the boy in front of her—until she's thrown of balance by Sherry nudging her. The boy before her is focused on anything but the group. He looks to the clock, his own watch, the windows at the side of the room, eavesdropping on a nearby group, at Sherry's hair and Rainy, that the blonde beside him was a wannabe preppie.

"What's your name?" Sherry folds her hands under her propped chin. It was as if she only had eyes for the blonde in front of her.

Unlike her, the boy only glances up as he searches for the assigned page. "Uh, Ed," he answers.

The other beside him sighed loudly. His neck lolls over the back of the chair, and all eyes turn to him. He doesn't notice it right away, and when he does, he straightens his posture a bit.

A bit

"My name's Peter." He waves sarcastically before puffing his cheeks and rolling his eyes, turning his attention to something else.

Rainy wonders if she should pick him in the leg or tell that she couldn't work with him.

"Okay~ And this is Rainy. Everyone knows each other—good! Now, does anyone know what the heck this even means?" Sherry tries to break the awkwardness unsuccessfully.

Ed looks up at her, brows furrowing.

She becomes nervous. "O-or if no one does, w-we can try and figure it out...?"

He raises a brow.

The teacher speaks up then. "Everyone, you have the next fifteen minutes to come up with an interpretation and share it with class."

Sherry volunteers to speak. Ed explains his interpretation of the assigned passage reading. Both girls scribble notes on paper as they read, since Ed had already...until a finger-less gloved hand comes down on the top of Rainy's. Her pencil pauses but doesn't look up.

Peter is staring at her.

Rainy would have grown annoyed. She only looked up when hearing: "you were in Trevelyan's class last year, weren't you?" His voice is low, obviously not wanting the others to hear. Ed maybe; it wasn't like Sherry would have paid enough attention to.

Rainy eyes him, expression completely inexpressive.

"Yeah you were..." Peter remembers. He has an elbow folded under him on the desktop. He is leaning over her desk as well but neither a paper or pen of his own was near him.

"What's it to you?"

"We were in the same class."

She doesn't respond.

SUSPICIOUS

"You remember m—-" He broke off, then decides to go with instead: "you remember that?"

She hesitates. "No. I don't remember that at all." She goes back to writing, missing the shock and then disappointment that flash across his features for a millisecond and then he covered up. "My memory doesn't exceed this year. Before that, nothing." She speaks so calmly, as if this was just a normal conversation over breakfast, not something supposedly secret he was trying to hint at her.

"Is that how you got that burn on your arm then?" He tilts his chin. "Doesn't look like something from a fire burn..."

Her eyes dart in his direction.

She already would have started to not like him

Not one bit

The tension spikes

"Why would you want to know any of this anyway?" Her eyes shine almost dangerously. She notices his brows beginning to arch downward as she turns back to her paper.

Peter doesn't look away. "Because—-"

Ed interrupts then, calling for their attention to be directed toward the work, and "can your bickering and asswiping wait?" Peter retorts with a comment about panties up someone's ass and cooling jets.

Ed's cheeks flush. Rainy can't tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. Sherry was left looking back and forth from both boys, somehow completely lost.

Peter doesn't speak up at all during the rest of class that day. But before leaving, he did hold Rainy's gaze once more and gave a slight, sly grin.

She would run into him two days later, totally unexpected.

THE TENSION SPIKED

She probably shouldn't like that that smile he had given her if she could.

* * *

_**A/N: Notice Brett's "missing" class pin from last chapter? The few words in here can be translated from Serbian to English because I would think that is what Transia's language would be.**_

**_Replies:_**

_One largely oversized thank you and shout-out to **icanhearthedrums**. Besides absolutely loving your username, I have to admit I was so, SO self-conscious when I first got that 'NEW REVIEW' notification. But still and again, thanks so much. I'm sorry, words escape me right now other than you made me smile! **((**You all go check out icanhearthedrums' short story 'LAID BARE' for a good laugh and if Cherik is your cup of tea.**))**_

**_I thought about it, and are you all who are following, are you feeling left out? Would you like me to give shout-outs to you as well who have added this story? I'm only asking because I REALLY don't know._**

**_to Miccacode:_**_ Wow, just thank you thank you thank you. I was beginning to wonder that last chapter was maybe a bit harsh and I probably stepped on a few toes (and again to all those, I didn't mean to!) but you've made me feel better and more confident about it :)_

_And there's starting to be more OC varieties?! That's so cool! ...I haven't been reading enough fics lately then... (And is that for all of FF that there's beginning to be more variety, or just in the X-Men category ?) Because I guess that someone probably didn't like that, I'm guessing, because a follower was lost :/ But thanks to the newbies who added this._

_And yes, I do plan to re-order all the chapters when it's about over, may more be re-numbering due to less hassle and less blowing up people's notifications_

**_to Raven:_**_ forgive me please, I've just dealt with my first batch of flamers for another story of mine so I'm a bit paranoid recently. But dude (or dudette?) why do you always have to make me smile like an idiot at my phone? And does it have to go without saying that I'm pretty floored that this story is so liked? Especially that it's still at the very beginning? Well I am :)_

_And yes, we're free elves! ! __(for the time being) Y__ou have my feelings completely about tests. Me no like exams. EW!_

_But really I laughed when reading your comment even though I knew I shouldn't have. I didn't purposely make her father a character to hate; I honestly made him as a person who sees the situation in a completely different light, like two sides of the same coin...Or maybe as a more familiar example, Charles and Erik...wait, maybe that isn't the best example...they have nothing to do with this...forget what I just typed.._

_So, ANYWAYS...as far as I could tell, you're excellent at English. I had NO idea that it wasn't :)_

_And now I must ask you: LONG REVIEWS? ME BORED AT THEM? ? REALLY?! Dude, do you not realize how much writers eat those up? We ABSOLUTELY LOVE LOVE LOVE THEM! We get excited by just any review by anyone, but we get so high off of long reviews :) So to answer, no, I haven't and doubt I will grow bored with your long reviews, and all those who send them in! :)_


	9. Chapter 5: The Girl Without Memory I

**_A/N: EDIT: it's come to my attention that "gypsy" is a derogatory term. I've removed the word and I apologize and I didn't know that before._**

* * *

A traveler  
A basketcase  
And a thief

This would typically be seen as an odd group of individuals by some, many wondering just how they got along, and that surely they must clash with each other too much.

They did, for sure—many times they did, but they made it work. They had to. After all, they were family.

From the first day Marya Maximoff laid eyes on the two tiny bundles swaddled in cloth, she had fallen in love with the twins. Her husband, on the other hand, had been more wary in acceptance at first. She couldn't blame him. From knowing their mother and hearing stories of who they guessed was the father, Marya understood his concern. But she also knew that the two were just human as well, they were innocent.

They were just infants

And upon Magda's dying words, Marya held in her heart as her duty that she would uphold the silent promise to keep them, to protect them, and grow them up into a fine man and woman. All went well despite the death of her close friend, and with the help of the others they traveled with—and of her husband, of course—they were able to manage.

And then her husband disappeared.

The once-headstrong Romani woman then suddenly crumbled; Marya was only twenty-four then. Scared and still young, she continued traveling with her family and Magda's twins, gaining reassurance and consultancy when needed. And slowly, but surely, Marya began returning to herself and was growing happy once more—after all, she had other lives to worry about now rather than just her own. All began piecing back together to normal again...and then the camp was attacked.

Marya had also found out that she was pregnant.

Many of the others split up, others had ran blindly or right into the enemy. Still, others had not been so lucky.

The twins were almost seven when it all happened. And needless to say, seeing what was once your home up in flames with the stench of everything burning is not a pleasant memory to keep.

Though Marya is thankful that she and the twins were able to get out alive, even it only being with the clothes on their backs and the necklace Marya's Nana had given her hours before the attack as good luck that she had held close to her chest.

It's ironic when you think about it. And that, sadly, she had to part with the jade necklace in order to make enough money to get them all by. And within almost half a year, they had managed to catch a flight to America, following stories told and hoping that they could make a better life there.

The rest is history, and can be figured out.

Not many of the others from their traveling family followed them across the seas.

Marya and the twins were homeless for a period of time until she found a decent job. She worked her way up, the twins grew strong, and as time passed, they all grew into a normal American family.

And her daughter had been born, and the twins' powers began to appear.

And then things took to a whole new level. On one hand, the woman couldn't be happier; on another, they had powers when in a world that hadn't shown much favor for. It also took babysitting to another step.

But still, Marya was happy. The twins provided much needed help with her new daughter which came difficult from her job's uneven hours. More than once, they have shown empathy towards her and have offered to help find ways for coming up with money. Marya had always shot them down, but still, there were incidents when money would randomly disappear and reappear in her purse, and there was twice with a "misunderstanding" with her bank account that a large sum had suddenly appeared, and then disappeared soon after. She knew that it all was in good intentions, but it was increasingly challenging to raise super-powered children in secrecy.

Magda would have been proud

But of course, as typical when raising any children, as the years when by, things began to change. But Marya couldn't complain—she had a well-paying job, three beautiful children, good health, a roof over their heads and food to eat.

Wanda was a somewhat quiet girl who didn't like confrontation, and Pietro always seemed to seek attention.

Her brother gave into his abilities, his impulsiveness,

She became afraid and tried to control hers.

Marya's own daughter was just a bubbly, pink-loving tyke.

Wanda was the family's peacekeeper.

And Marya saw that as her abilities began to appear, Wanda burried more into her shell.

Wanda was the somewhat quiet child.

Pietro, on the other hand...

* Knock Knock Knock Knock ! *

"Peter! Why are the cops here? What did you do!"

* * *

Meisha is one who can be called intuitive. Ever since she was very small, she has had an uncanny ability to identify one's true emotions or intentions no matter how buried or denial they were in. It was like something that was like second nature to her, and it wasn't until she was eight did her parents realize that it was the product of a mutation rather than just "strange coincidences."

This ability has followed her since, and with her now in high school, it was becoming more troublesome.

This power was one that she found odd, especially given both of her parents and family, as far as she knew, were all normal. And at first, she hadn't wanted it. Meisha had felt isolated, abnormal, vulnerable, and alone, despite her parents' indifference of their show of affection towards her.

Her parents hadn't cared about her power

To this day, Meisha hasn't fully welcomed it—she has just come to accept it.

This had been evident in the way she caries herself, the low volume she speaks in, and in her attitude. She would shy away from any contact, not wanting to have the sense of their thoughts and wants crowding her mind—it was nearly impossible to hold in and get rid of when it was inquired, and usually led to her blurting out intentions that most would have wanted to keep secret. Because of this, the friends she had in the past hadn't lasted very long, and those that had stayed, eventually moved away anyway.

Her parents shower her with as much appreciation they could offer, treating her no different than if she hadn't gained a mutation. But it began growing difficult to muster a smile and approving attitude when their child would only sulk and frown.

The day her parents expressed this to her, which was followed by another event later at school that day, was when her second mutation surfaced. And to this day, Meisha hasn't uttered a word to any soul of the shock and the blood that had covered the tile and school bathroom floor that day.

And then, Meisha isolated herself, and kept her hair tied in a braid to prevent it from happening again. Her hair was the first thing that Pietro commented on when meeting her for the first time. There was no "hello" or even some excuse about the weather.

"Your hair is freaky long! And so red...is that natural?!"

Meisha stared back at him, mouth hung open in an unsure drone. She lowered her hand from the top of her hair from fiddling with her hairpins. "Yes~" she drew out the word, unsure of his motives. "This is the color I was born with. At least, I'm moderately sure it wasn't changed when I was a baby..." she added with sarcasm.

"Why do you keep it in a braid?"

"Because I like it."

"So you never thought about doing something else with it? I don't know, like pin it up in a really cool, weird style or in twists or something. Be creative. 'Cause just one braid is boring. Lame. ...You know, it'd make a really cool mullet!"

Meisha frowned. "I do it because I have to. Besides," she could feel her eyes beginning to burn from tears. She didn't quite like this, "what are you to say? Isn't that just a bad dye job!"

He had laughed and then asked, "can you, like, wrap it around yourself or use it to carry something or tie something up with it..." He turned to a singsong voice. "Can you tie it in a knot can you tie it in a bow?!"

She paused. "Why do you ask so many questions!?"

To her annoyance, he just smirked and looked at her from the corner of his eye. "I kinda like you, you know... you're funny."

And since that day, they have stuck together.

"And by the way, your hair makes the braid kinda cool."

Meisha's parents were also happy

That she has come to accepting herself more and her powers since. ...And mainly, it had to do with her being able to identify with others like herself.

And once she revealed her ability to emotion-read, Pietro had only grown more excited.

Pietro

Meisha

Ronny

And that is how they were now.

* * *

Meisha follows after Pietro down the school hall, all but jogging to keep up with his quick pace. She asks for him to slow down as she fought against the stream of students hurrying the opposite way.

"Can't," he answers simply, pushing through a group of girls with MALL hair.

The students soon thin out and Meisha was able to sprint to his side. "Then you mind telling me exactly what we're doing this time?"

Only a smile gracing his face was her answer. Meisha looks over her shoulder nervously seeing the hall quickly empty the further they walk. That was one of those mischievous smirks he wore, when he was up to something that would most likely, on the norm, get them detention, scolded, or someone dunked in a trashcan.

"No time."

He hurries around a corner and Meisha has to put in unnecessary effort just to stay behind him. Here, around the corner, the halls were entirely clear.

"Then what exactly will we need?" She watches him glance around and then speed further down the hall to a locker, spinning the combination lock. Meisha runs up to peer over his shoulder just as he pulls the locker door open.

"A toothpick. Duct tape. Screwdriver. A bag. Rope. And lots and lots of bleach. And plastic wrap." He's handing her the said materials, pulling them out one by one. "The bleach can wait 'til next time. The plastic wrap now."

"And so you need me for...the screwdriver part...?"

He nods. "And the rope." He shuffles papers aside as if looking for something else.

Meisha sighs heavily to herself and refusing to smile. Pietro seems to always find a way to drag her in one of his schemes, seeming to like using her mainly as a resource because of her power.

But secretly she liked it  
She didn't mind

And Meisha could already feel her braid twitching, the end barely brushing against the back of her knees and she curls her hands into fists. Why did she insist on this boy, she questions herself, seemingly for the umpteenth time.

He searches more through the mess of loose-leaf pages. "And how long is this supposed to take?" she faintly worries.

"Don't worry yourself. It's just going to take a couple seconds. Minutes, maybe."

"That's what you said last time. You know that it isn't good for Ronny to be in crowds alone."

Their friend, Ronny, doesn't like crowds or any group gatherings

That was how he had discovered his mutation

almost blending in completely to the building right next to his parents

TERRIFYING

PANIC

His mutation

it always happened when he was nervous

Especially in crowds

"You guys go on ahead. Just hurry back," Ronny sucked his lip.

He lets the locker door close on its own and speeds around her and began continuing down the hallway, still that same up-to-no-good smirk on his face. "He'll be fine!" Pietro focus is straight ahead.

Meisha has to scurry back to his side. She worries about just how long has he been plotting this. When she asks this out loud, it makes him pause, eyes shift, and give the most suspicious "not long" answer to record. Meisha shuffles the things in her arms. She calls for help, feeling them slipping from her grasp. He seems almost surprised—completely forgetting about it.

He plucks the roll of plastic wrap from her and hikes it under his arm. The duct tape is stuck between his teeth. Meisha keeps open the large bag and he hides the tape under his jacket and she bites her lip catching his shirt rise in the effort.

"And so what's gonna be done with all those?" She knew that there was no use trying to diverge his mind now.

"Well, first, I'm gonna need you to take out all the screws in Dean Picardy's office. That's step one. Then, I have this plan that by the next assembly, to make the principle's pants fall apart by using enough bleach..."

**. . .**

It is the students in their grade year and those the year above who were packed into the gymnasium for yet another mandatory assembly. It seems the more fights, misconduct, and pranks that have been increasingly occurring required a mandatory assembly by the principle's arrangements.

In the classrooms when the assembly had first been announced over the intercom, Meisha already guessed that the steel-haired mutant behind her had aided in the cause of it. He had looked up and stared ahead, remaining that way until their classmates begun packing at the end of the period. She had watched as he smirked slyly, turned to Ronny, spoke something too low to hear and stood from his chair to leave ago long with the students. She continued on with Pietro, pausing for a moment as Ronny diverged to keep watch during the assembly. That was part of the plan.

And in the bleachers was where the two found him as Pietro slinks into the gym, ignoring the eyes from the teachers about his tardiness. Meisha pauses before going inside behind him. And just as she suspects, Ronny was seated and rubbing his forearms in-between his knees, eyes shifting and feet bouncing nervously.

In the gym, Pietro puffs his cheeks in a sigh, sliding into the space next to the taller teen and Ronny almost immediately calms and returns to normal.

"How long was that?" Pietro rubs his hands together, still riding out the last of his burst of adrenaline. He enjoys this, testing his limits and dancing between the lines. It gave him a rush when his powers weren't allowed. That's why he's wearing this proud, self-satisfied grin.

"Just over seven minutes," Ronny answers, glancing at his wristwatch. He exhales a shaky sigh. "Would we need to run again? ...Uh, and I got that camera's in my bag."

"No need." The other licks his lips, pushing down a beaming smile that wants to push through. "Just wait for fourth period history and it's sure to be announced." He eases into his seat.

The administrator in the middle of the gym is talking about the new punishments for tardiness. Meisha's face burns, knowing their insinuating is directed towards her and Pietro.

The gym doors swing open and slam shut as three pale boys enter.

Good. So now they wouldn't be the only ones scolded.

"So, uh…what's all this about?" Pietro points with his chin towards the school dean who steps forward, and who is tapping the mic.

A splitting screech echoes through the room. The entire gymnasium covers their ears until the mic's feedback passes.

"Ah, you just missed a "very useful" speech on the need to stop harassment and bullying the need to stop bullying," Ronny answers sarcastically. "One on upcoming tests, and there was one on the importance of peer pressure. Now I think they're going to be saying something about that lunchroom fight you started last time." Ronny gestures to the adults below and gives pointed looks at the teen beside him.

Pietro turns. "Hey, that fight wasn't entirely my fault, I didn't even start it anyway that jerk-off did!"

Ronny snickers and bumps his shoulder. He knew and was only joking.

The dean at the microphone continues. He speaks that there will be the upcoming Spirit Week and the usual fundraiser booths coordinated by the student government's senior president. Unnecessary enthusiasm was added.

Ronny smirks at the mention of Spirit Week. Pietro smiles for other reasons. Meisha continues frowning on the seat below them.

Spirit Week is just an excuse by those on the student government to raise money. Despite, it's worked almost every time. People enjoy the small games, the laxer dress code, competition between teachers and classrooms.

The senior president is a guy who has won grade representative and a position on the student council in all his years of high school.

Then, the dean announces that in honor of this year's anniversary, there will be a competition among the class of this grade to get the highest attendance wins free pizza coupons. To a majority of the students, being on time was nonessential, so the dean decided to attempt to manipulate them this year. And of course the offer of free food grabs attention. There would also be a three-dollar admission to a movie showing in the gym.

"Oh really…" Pietro perks at this, yet another idea already formulating in his mind, and he smirks. If there was a "...So... basically a great time to ask out Mckenzie..." He rubs his hands together, speaking more to himself.

No one catches Meisha rolling her eyes or her small snarl.

"Pffft!" Ronny had overheard and sticks out his chin.

Pietro is staring not too far off at a laughing brunette in a red bandanna headband and light blue jumpsuit. Seeing this, Ronny sighs slightly, shaking his head, and grimaces.

"And how exactly do you possibly think that could go about—successfully—without slipping, butterfingers? You know how she is, and that she's never alone." Ronny glances up just in time to catch the girl in question lean over and brush her lips along the jaw of a boy seating beside to her. Pietro had already turned back ahead and hadn't seen. That had to be Mckenzie's current squeeze and Ronny worries that his friend just wouldn't understand…

"That's what everyone says. You don't know that for sure," Pietro defends.

"Uh huh, sure." Ronny's gaze then drifts to a light haired brunette seating not too far away from Mckenzie. Unlike the first this one wasn't smiling at all. "Besides," Ronny jokes, "what about Miss Frigid; weren't you just trying to get her life story a few days ago."

The other follows his friend's line of sight. Rainy is settled between that steadily talking strawberry blonde from English class and one of the school's star ball players. Pietro wonders how the girl isn't showing signs of discomfort from being wedged next to the dark player.

"Oh, her?" He points. "What about her?"

Ronny raises a brow.

"Yeah I asked about her; so what? It's nothing serious."

"So what?" and Ronny chuckles. The comment was probably meant for himself.

Pietro's blank look doesn't change upon the mention of the other, despite being one of the school's most popular names.

"You're serious about this?"

A crease forms between Pietro's light-colored brows. He glances above once more when he was certain his friend wasn't looking and caught Rainy rubbing her arm. Her hand ran over the same area where she had been burnt over a year ago. He wonders is she remembered he had been there when it happened.

"What's that's supposed to mean? You don't think I can do it?" He turns around, speaking rapidly. He means asking out Mckenzie, a feat in itself that would be considered a miracle by any under-aged male.

Ronny scoffs. "I know you wouldn't be able to do it."

Then Pietro half sneers, half smirks. He begins thinking of a comeback. In front of them, Meisha shakes her head.

"…Gonna start being just like her," she mutters, and pauses before peeking over her shoulder.

"Exactly! Thank you, Meisha! Dude, you aren't gonna last. Now, with asking her out—maybe you'd be successful. But dude, you know Mckenzie was with a nineteen year old before, and just last year she broke up with that senior guy right before graduation from after, like, two years. You do remember that, right?"

"Yeah? And so what do—-"

"Okay then, I rest my case." Ronny holds out his palms as if to make his point. "Go ahead and do what you gotta, but I think it's dangerous to have mess with her."

"You think it's dangerous if you take a shit without telling your mom."

"I do not! I—-" The taller one gapes, struggles for words.

Meisha rolls her eyes, turning forward. Pietro raises a brow.

"Dude…what about the jeans she made you—-"

"That was one time!"

The two boys stealing on Ronny's other side glance over with questioning stares. Pietro is snickering.

Ronny purses his lips, slaps his hands on his thighs. "Fine. Fine. But all I'm saying is that it-it's not smart to try and go around with two girls on your hands, alright? First Mckenzie I-I guess I understand, and then you're all over Capulet—-"

Two-timing

Meisha's brows shoot up and she turns around to stare.

The bridge of Pietro's nose winkles. "Dude, what? No! I'm not trying to say it like that in that way. No—just no. What the hell anyway—-!"

"Alright~" Ronny places a hand on his chest in mock concern. "I was worried that I'd might have to start digging your grave for you early." He grins seeing his friend's frown.

"He'll never do it anyway," Meisha muttered into her knuckles. "Mckenzie is too..how do I say this nicely? ...Too way up there to reach." She raises her fist to emphasis a bar. "She's just...no."

Pietro's frown deepens. "Well who asked you anyway?"

Ronny catches her eye and smiles. "I agree with Meisha. She's way out of your league." This earns the gray-haired teen to turn on him now. "Besides, I hear Juliet's a hard one to crack, doesn't speak to hardly anyone and it's worse if she does. It'd be a miracle if anyone even found just what her problem was..." he muses about Rainy. "Doesn't mean she's any better, though."

"Not really. I've talked to her before," Pietro shrugs. His head tilts a little to each side as he lists off: "A little cold, somewhat talkative, all around snappy." He smirks shakes. He then shook his head in sympathy, sucking his teeth. "She's not your type."

"Oh, my type," Ronny chuckles. "I'm not sure just whose type she is, but all I'm saying is that Mckenzie would be too much to handle." He smirks, knowing he was only irking his friend. His words were true, however. "You know how many guys she turns down a day?" he exaggerates. "And, I think Juliet over there would be easier...for someone who doesn't mind getting their ears bitten off." That last remark was about Rainy.

Meisha tilts her head and adds to the teasing. "You're saying it like you heard this all like facts or something from somewhere."

"I'm saying it 'cause I know," Ronny answers. "And that I did hear it from somewhere. 'Cause I bet he couldn't do it anyway."

Pietro looks Ronny in the eye. His brows arch, tempted. "Is that a challenge I'm hearing?"

The other pauses for a moment to think it over. Whenever Ronny has let down from a bet or challenge with him, Pietro would hold it over his head for days, weeks even. Or however long the chicken bawks and snide comments would last until he gets bored. So, not wanting to destroy his own ego, Ronny inhales, squares his jaw, and puffs his chest. "Yeah…yeah it is. I'll even pay ya." Now he had the speedster's attention.

Pietro is intrigued. "How much are we talking?"

"Well, I'm talkin' about the forty you're gonna be paying me when Mckenzie still be on her ex by the time of the gym movie showing, and Capulet chews you out by then. But you have to last until then."

Pietro's brows raise, looking impressed. "Oh! " He smiles. "Challenge excepted!"

By now, Meisha's insides are churning. She had been hoping that Pietro wouldn't agree to it, but that was impossible, knowing him. The end of her braid twitches and her hand reaches to squeeze it to keep it still. She wipes her look of shock and replaces it with narrowed eyes. She didn't like this; she had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

**_A/N:Yeah I know a bet is a very stupid thing to do, and most people today know better, but generation ago many didn't think that way. There won't be any cruel tropes because of this. Please work with me here._**

**_Replies:_**

**_to Cyanide Siren: _**_thanks so much! :)_

**_to Land on the stars:_ **_well, maybe if you read past chapter three, you would probably start to understand why Rainy's a little bitchy._

_Also, a thanks to the guest who called themselves _**_H_**_ for pointing out Rainy and her attitude. (By the way, if you read the A/N in each chapter, you'd understand which chapter went where.) I had not realize that she may be border-lining "too mean" and I'll try to amp up Peter to counter ;)_

**_And rest assure, if any of you think that she's a bit too mean as well, that's planned to change in coming chapters. :)_**


	10. Chapter 6: The Girl Without Memory II

**_A/N: Opinions are _****_much_****_ appreciated by the way!_**

* * *

Rainy doesn't groan but she presses the wad of tissues to her nose with so much force that she should be.

Three minutes. Almost three whole minutes she's been sitting out here in the hall bleeding like crazy. It has been three minutes too long than she should be here. She is also losing her class time...

Rainy pulls the tissue back, sees that it is soaked with red, and sighs. Her head softly thuds against the white wall behind her. Luckily, the pressure she had been applying to stop her nosebleed had seemed to help lessen the flow, it is still bleeding a significant amount, but still she needs help. At this point, she was going to need a new shirt _and_ a trip to the hospital.

Rainy is waiting in a chair outside the school nurse's office. A student had been called inside five minutes ago. She suspects the faint sobs heard minutes ago as them. She also knows that it would be a squeeze for anymore than three in the divided section of the office inside. In the other space is a desk and a sickly student sleeping on a cot.

But still, this wait had been going on for much too long than it should. But she's lucky that her head isn't spinning just yet.

Rainy glances between the wad of tissues again and sees that it is almost completely soaked with blood in a matter of the passes few minutes. The halls are clear due to it being the middle of class. The hall monitors were gone and the nearby water fountain unoccupied so there is no chance to be seen and have another claim tacked on to her reputation—not that she particularly _cared_, of course. Rainy throws the bloodied tissue in a bin across the way and scurries back to her seat, and before anyone could see, makes herself a tissue-walrus.

She begins mocking to herself: "_Come outside,_ Sherry said._ It's just a little hot, we won't be out that long,_ she said." She rolls the tissues between her palms.

It was around ninety-two degrees and climbing when Rainy had been persuaded by Sherry to skip class to be with her again, this time outside in the school's field for P.E. Thinking that she would there only as someone for the strawberry blonde to talk to and that she would leave relatively soon, Rainy had thought nothing of it. It was when Sherry insisted that Rainy stay for the entire gym class _and_ participate did things take an unexpected turn.

Sherry had wanted her to stay out in the blazing sun

In denim

And participate in Sherry's class

when she didn't even have the clothes for it

such as to flipping a tractor's tire across the field

No shorts

in almost 98 degrees

_"You'll be fine. You're wearing a skirt, just take off the jean jacket."_

The temperature seemed to remarkably escalate as time went by.

The coach hadn't cared the times other students came to the P.E. class as long as her own students were attending and did as they should.

When Sherry had merely been sweating out in the heat, Rainy was bent over her long jean skirt gasping for breath with closed eyes. Sherry was the one who noticed the red droplets on the grass; she put a hand on Rainy's shoulder and asked if she was ok and had practically panicked when she saw the deep flush of Rainy's face and the thick lines of blood trailing down to the girl's lips.

Rainy doubts she'd be allowed to skip to that class again, even when she would lie that she had been in her assigned class at the time of the incident. She is certain that she wouldn't be allowed back into Sherry's class by how quickly the coach ushered everyone inside following Sherry's small freak-out.

And now she is waiting her turn in the nurse's with an excuse to call for a ride to the hospital, bleeding to death.

All students are in the middle of class, she suspects, aside from the occasional wanderer or someone with a bathroom pass. And the hall monitor. Can't forget the hall monitor. Most had their heads stuck so far up their butts with power. Rainy eyes a lanky ginger from the other end of the long hall. There's a sash slugged over his torso. He hesitates, as if debating to pull out the notepad in his back pocket. He continues on his way instead. She changes out the tissues in her nostrils, making sure to squeeze the bridge if her nose for more pressure to ease the flow.

The seat outside the nurse's is a long, painted bench against insipid white walls. Almost ironically, the bench is placed between the nurse's and one of the dean's offices.

Rainy looks to the clock high on the wall behind her. It's going on nine minutes now. Nine consecutive, critical minutes and her head should be beginning to throb. Too bad she couldn't feel it… Her fingers return to the bridge of her nose and presses. She hopes that she is adding enough pressure. Because there is a steadily continuous banging coming down the corner from the right hallway. She turns; it was someone trailing a hand on the locker doors, slamming the open ones closed, causing the loud echoing as the culprit jogged to her direction.

SHADES

SILVER

BLACK

VANS

Rainy catches sight of a head of familiar gray hair and her deadpan expression doesn't change. She watches the boy hurry down the tile hallway and seems to be staring off at the distance. A pair of dark shades contrasted with his hair and made it difficult to determine just _what_ he was watching. A hand rests in one pocket of his jeans.

Rainy holds her hands over her nose, hiding the tendrils behind a clean wad of tissue. And she turns away, turning her back to his general direction, and pulls both tissues out, wondering if the flow had slowed and that he would just pass by. She'd be damned if she let _him_ see her that way.

She blinks

He reaches for something at the top of the lockers, and she peeks over her shoulder just in time to catch his dark unbuttoned shirt flutter along to the disperse of loose papers he shoves, fluttering to the floor behind him. He's wearing a white tank top underneath.

She blinks

As he nears, he plucks something—a toothpick?—from between his teeth, runs fingers through his light hair, slowing to remove his shades catching the same hall monitor glaring at him. Pietro shoots him a quick finger-guns.

She blinks

The boy pays no attention to anyone around, one earphone in of his Sony Walkman to help block out the world. He bobs his head along with the beat of the current song playing.

Rainy would have turned her nose up at his approach. But instead, she adjusts in the seat so he could barely be able to see a quarter of her face. And she fumbles a little with jamming the remaining clean tissues into her sweater pocket.

The boy plops down on the bench and pulls out a stress ball he had stolen from his teacher once. His head bobs at least four more times, rapidly. So, he too didn't notice the other until after several tosses of the ball, one going particularly too high and he'd have to jump to his feet to catch it—when he reaches a little too far to the right and—that he notices the other's presence at the other end of the bench and turned away.

Pietro pauses—it's a girl—before realizing it was the same girl from English class. Her name starts with an R, he thinks. She's mocked for her name and is referred to as Juliet. He stretches his arms. A hand fiddles with the stress ball. He debates whether to begin say something or leave her be. Both are seated at opposite ends of the bench.

He inhales...

"Fancy seeing you here."

The hallway remains silent.

"So, uh, Juliet...what're _you_ here for? Cheated on a test? Too many tardies?" It was almost like he was mocking her.

Somewhere off, the echo of a slammed locker door reaches them.

"You know," Pietro purses his lips. "I always thought you to be someone who's _too good_ to do anything like this—anything _bad_, I mean. Never got into a fight either, huh, I bet. What, you get all the boys to fight for you? Seems typical."

She turns to him without the slightest sound and an unwavering stare.

Pietro merely watches her and stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets. He shuffles in his seat. "They _do_ say that there's a girl here who seemed to get a kick out of blowing off those who try talking to her... Says that she's all hard 'nd crap 'nd doesn't like talking to people, like no one's good enough..." He tries swallowing his grin but it comes back full force. "Sounds like a real hard-on to me. Hey," he jerks his chin in her direction; she's staring off instead of at him. "You don't happen to _heard _this girl, do you? She sounds so wound up and I wonder...if her boyfriend has slid her the _hot beef injection_ yet..." He then opens his mouth as if just remembering something, but it too was sarcasm. "Oh, that's _right_! That's _you_, isn't it!"

She doesn't answer. Rainy raises a brow, still not looking his way.

Pietro continues, beginning on a different topic. "You know, I once knew a guy who got suspended for cracking one—punching one of the coaches in the face. You know, the one that one who just got fired. How crazy is that, the psycho. ..But then again, there was this girl I heard who got suspended for doing something like it... I think. Not you, of course." And he scoffs. "_You_ probably wouldn't ever do something like that, would you, Juliet?"

His attention is then taken as he catches the sight of blood when he looks over at her. "I know I'm handsome but _damn_. Those must be really _filthy_ thoughts to have a nosebleed already," his arrogant grin shines through again.

"As if," she grumbles behind the tissues pressed under her nose. "Any thoughts like that would be considered quite irrational and ridiculous to someone like me. Besides, given the current selections here, I would have to pick...no deal."

The corners of his lips waver. He watches as she sniffs, turns away, pulls something from her pocket and then walks over to the trash bin. When she returns, her face is clean once more.

Pietro pauses. He tosses the ball in the air a couple times. "So Juliet, what'd you get called up here for?"

There's a hesitance in the air.

"The nurse's," she answers.

He mouth opens in a silent _"ahh."_ Then, "for what? A broken arm, sprained ankle, ruptured spleen...some _boo-boo _you got?"

No answer.

"Or you're just going to call _Daddy_ to come and get you out of class?" he mocks.

She glances at him from the corner of her eye. He was smiling, pleased at himself.

Almost everyone knew her father, so that was expected

"It's none of your business."

He hesitates, grin wavering. "...Fair enough." He poked his lip out a little, shrugs. "Guess I just had my hopes up too high for someone like you, huh?"

She looks back at him, still refusing to turn around completely. "Someone like me...? What would anyone with the likes of you know anything as that; you do realize that you are talking to a stranger, don't you? You don't truly know anything about me."

He then laughs a little. "Yeah—no. I've heard the rumors."

"The rumors?" She cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed.

His smile was gone by now. "The rumors."

She's still unconvinced.

"The rumors of the girl with a mouth so bad it makes everyone runs for the hills. They say that she's almost a teacher's pet and puts up a face to everyone and all just because her _daddy's_ probably going to be the _head of town_. She acts stiff, mean, and a hard nut you crack, you know—all the typical symptoms of the diagnosis _virgin_." He's smiling widely to himself now. A hand rests on his thigh and he's turned fully towards her. "Or, if you can even _remember _that," he adds in a snarky manner. He's waiting for her to bite, to snap back and maybe stomp off in a huff as so many usually do—those of higher school social status, that is.

Rainy adjusts her seating, making sure to leave her back to him and now _much _space between them. She remains quiet as her eyes run over the boy across to her. "Is that so?" she tests. "And how trustworthy are those words coming from someone with such a big ego and without the little friend to match?"

Pietro's smile falters. His lips set in a line.

LIES

RUMORS

FALSE

"You are just as inexperienced, given yourself to talk." She turns away again and begins toying with the ends of her hair. Her mother had it permed a week ago and it now hung straight. "So, it _is _true that you are some kind of stalker, that one with silver hair?" she tests with her own brutal venom. There's a trickle of blood that is falling from her nostril. "I bet that in the morning, if you squint, you might look older than you truly are, I'd presume. With your hair and all." She remains expressionless the entire time.

Rainy sniffs to make sure no blood has fallen and doesn't know that it doesn't work. She looks toward the nurse's door; it should be opening soon, the previous student's session having been finished.

Pietro is now staring at her with a hardened look.

"Juliet—you also went to Winchester Middle School too, right? Moved here about four years ago? Was in Mr. Trevelyan's science class last year? By the way, why _do _they call you weak and complicated? I mean, judging by you, you don't look like anything's wrong. 'Cause I remember that back in Mr. Trevelyan's class—-"

"Don't ask questions if you can't handle the consequences of having that information."

_Was that a threat?_

Pietro's brows furrow. A pause hangs in the air.

"What's your deal, Juliet?" He squints. He was now fully turned toward her with a leg folded across the other. His grin slowly returns, more arrogant than before. "Because it seems like you are just one _tough shell_."

ONE FINGER

She holds up one finger in the air. "First, it isn't Juliet, stalker. For someone who supposedly knows a lot about people, you sure are poor at it, missing the most small and important details," she mocks.

TWO FINGERS

"Two, don't go around acting like you genuinely want to know about everyone, because I'm sure that you have unresolved personal issues as well." She lowers her fingers and now points her index at his exposed white t-shirt, at his chest. "Anyhow, that still does not justify your actions of deliberately jumping to a conclusion and judging based on feeble and exaggerated words by people who's it's there only legacy."

He's frowning. "So are you saying I'm lying?" It wasn't spoken as a question, but he really was curious.

She sees drops of blood fall to her arm, pulls out another rumpled tissue to clean her face. She should probably be feeling lightheaded by now. "I'm neither saying that you are nor you aren't." She still has her back to him and only looks over her shoulder. "All I am saying is that anyone smart enough would not fall to believing any rumors. ...But then again, you are a part of the C-crew, aren't you?"

The C-crew is the nickname dubbed to the students lumped together who could never seem to get out of the C-average grading range.

Rainy is no longer looking to him.

Pietro's eyes rake over the girl's back in front of him, contemplating on just how to respond to this. At least he wouldn't have to deal with her judgmental glare.

Word here sure goes around fast

He breathes, folds his hands and leans in her direction. He lips part, he contemplates on whether to respond.

"Don't take this the wrong way but you're as cold as ice with an attitude like a cactus." He's trying to hold back a snarl. "Why _are _you so cold?"

"Again, don't ask questions you do not want to find the answers to."

Her tone was so calm...and it was beginning to irritate him extremely.

"Anyway, from someone with the likes of you, I'm surprised that you would even be here, bothering to talk with someone as higher up the scale as I am. Didn't you say that I'm too stiff for your liking because of my father's position?"

Now that was just insulting...

Rainy's brows rise. "What? Where you going to attempt at asking one of those vulgar come-ons?"

He didn't answer.

She raises a hand to her mouth, eyes wide as if in surprise. "Did I beat you to the punch?" Her concern is fake. "Oops."

By this point, Pietro wore a studying glare. Just what game was she trying to play at, he wonders.

"Well, that's one thing off your troubles." She almost sighs. "Anyway, I'm sure that a guy like you would have something better to do that try to hit on a girl. ...Well, it's hoped that one would have something better to do with time than going to the principal's."

"Oh, so now you're switching up? Jumping to conclusions are you? A little hypocritical, isn't it? I'm hurt, Juliet."

So now they were on the same level of sass

Another silence follows them.

She just stares.

And he doesn't look away.

It continues on for some time—a pregnant pause in the air—to the point of irritation for him—until—

"Do not try to be all nice with me," she speaks, wiping at her nose again. The tissue is almost completely soaked with blood. "Any attempt will be feeble and useless and it would save a lot of your trouble and unwanted prying. We can't be friends. So," she points to him again," stay away from me." Her hand drops with a loud bang at her side that must have hurt. Yet, she doesn't flinch. "You should feel lucky, grateful even—I'm letting you off nicely. The last Neanderthal had the impudence to question me to _jump_ on him one weekend," she wraps her arms around herself as if she felt hurt, "in such ungraceful vulgarity."

"Well I don't even know the _definition_ of impudence," he admits. "But I can _guarantee_ that some are passed the stage of Neanderthals." He pauses. It seemingly only for a second. "And that you _did _beat me to it," he tells, only to see her turn away again.

Rainy folds her arms. "Typical." She points her gaze down the hallway, _opposite _of him.

"Wh—-That's not what I—-"

"If you don't have anything intellectual or _worth_ the _time_ to say, it would save you the trouble, as well as those around who would have to put up with that inadequacy going into their ears, that to just not say it at all."

"I'm all about time!"

He didn't know 'adequacy' either...

"And I'm—-"

Rainy's attention is taken to the door, hearing the screeching of chairs inside. She stands when the door swung open. There's a purple hairclip on the side of her hair that is threatening to slip. He bits his lip and thinks he should tell her.

Pietro had stopped mid-sentence. He watches as a blonde exits the room, wiping away stray tears.

Rainy focuses on the nurse inside, greets, and slinks inside the office. The burse immediately begins to rush seeing blood pouring from the girl's nose. The door shuts as Rainy is calmly explaining that a trip to the hospital is needed.

Exactly one minute later, Pietro is sitting back with crossed arms. He bites the inside of his cheek as the dean across from him laces together his sausage fingers atop a stack of paperwork. When the teen is called in, he is accused of several malfunctions in the teachers' lounge. This including some suddenly-missing personal items—a missing collector's mug, plastic wrap on the toilet seats, and all the screws missing to the entire office desk and chair belonging to one of the teachers. Pietro had merely sat with his arms across the back of the seat and a leg propped across a knee, trying to hold back a smirk.

The man could complain as much as he wanted, but there was no way he could ever prove the boy had done it. And that fact just made it _that_ much better for him.

**. . .**  
**. . .**

Later that day, Rainy wouldn't know but she crosses paths with the speedster again. It was when he was in the library with Meisha that he overhears that strawberry blonde, Sherry, speaking about a 'mission' to come back to the school after-hours.

Pietro had smiled to himself. This would give him the perfect opportunity to get back at that teacher who had sent him to the dean's office. He could slip in and out of the school building—because there was no way in otherwise—without anyone noticed.

This 'mission' was to commence in a few days, at the start of next week. And that gave him more than enough time to plan.

* * *

**_A/N:_** **_Replies-_**

**_to Cyanide Siren: _**_Thank you! Let's see...to answer your question: yes, there will be input about the other X-movies. But I have to remember that since there was (sadly) very little screen time for the Maximoffs, there will definitely be more of them in here, especially inn the second arc. And I do plan to have references to other Marvel material, but DOPF will _definitely_ be involved and not merely glanced over._

**_to flirtingwithanarchy:_**_ I like your user name and t__hank you so much :)_

**_to Raven: _**_Oh my gosh _PLEASE DON'T_ apologize! It's all good. It's so lovely to...read your words again! :) lol (Can't say HEAR in this situation huh?) And don't worry, we all squeal like little girls now and then (I admit I did seeing your review.)_

_Ok. So there will be more interactions coming soon, especially after next chapter. Yay? Oh, and Meisha and Ronny aren't the only mutants I'm planning to have in here; there will be OC ones and canon ones. _

_And the many times you make me smile is absolutely ridiculous! I don't know if it is beginning to be overused or not of all the Thank You's I want to send you. Every. Freaking. Time. Overall, I'm glad I could make you happy with this :) __Anyways...I didn't know what to say because, you know how some people are specific about that._


	11. Chapter 7: The Girl Without Memory III

**_A/N: A__ storm came out of nowhere, cutting the power and wifi, and I'm writing this when I should be working on another paper. Semester ends Wednesday and I have a week break before starting my REALLY important classes, so hopefully chapters will be pumping out before then._**

**_Anyways, this chapter actually marks an important part in this entire story. The small but important detail in here will hold weight in the coming chapters and history in coming arcs, so please bear with me!__ For those of you who were questioning Rainy and some of her motives, this will hopefully clear some things up - but it still remains that in later chapters she will change._**

**_Ok_**

* * *

"...It kinda sucks that the movie would only be shown in the gym," Sherry sighs. "They should have shown it in the field like I heard they did last time...I was really hoping to be more alone with Edwin..."

Rainy glances over. "Edwin?" She is only partially paying attention, keeping ahead of the other.

Sherry looks up, a look of disappointed confusion. "The cute one in English class, remember?"

Rainy only blinks in answer.

"He's the _blonde_ with _curly hair_. He was in our group for the poetry stuff," she explains further.

Rainy remembers now.

"Anyways..._in fact_, I think that we've been talking enough and hitting it off." She's smiling to herself. "But then...the gym shouldn't be a problem and really matter..."

Knowing Sherry, Rainy already knows that unless Edwin is a talkative one (which he wasn't), Sherry must have been and would be doing most if not all of the conversation. Edwin also appears to be the type who prefers a _book_ over a talkative _person_. But of course, Rainy couldn't tell her friend this, knowing how sensitive the strawberry blonde is.

Sherry always tends to look on the brighter side of things

regardless almost any situation

Sherry steps beside her. They were currently roaming the empty school halls in the weekend afternoon. She shook the spraycan in her hand and the sound of the ball inside seems to echo down the walls. Rainy notices sees from the corner of her eye her friend approach; she also notes the sound. For once, Sherry is dressed down, wearing a large dark blue shirt and denim pants that she was ready to dirty. Rainy was just in another tie-dye randomly pulled from her closet.

"Where should we start?" Sherry peeks in the window to a random classroom. Without waiting for an answer, she jiggles the knob and finds it locked.

Rainy shrugs. She sees Sherry open her mouth to respond but then jump at a the echo of a screech somewhere off. Sherry's head whips from her friend to both ways down the hall. It looks like she wanted to ask if Rainy had heard but keeps quiet instead—it had sounded almost like tires halting against asphalt.

She quickly straightens; she swallows her growing fear.

Rainy suggests putting up a banner. Sherry nods quickly, taking the lead to get ahead—she was obviously spooked. The two agreed to go in search for the supply room in the art classroom.

The front school lawn is freshly cut and unblemished by litter. Remnants of childish pranks and graffiti weren't able to be scrubbed off completely. The halls were emptied and swept, and all the doors locked. They located the school electrical system first, turning on all of the lights. According to both's parents, the girls were out at the mall with a few friends, and Rainy's father hasn't been home for several weeks anyway, so it didn't much matter.

There were several others who the two girls had snuck aside with during the school after-hours to prepare for the coming Spirit Week, to set up the booths, posters, and decorations for their section. This "agent-like" feat had surprisingly been more difficult than expected. Apparently, Rainy's addition had been met with stares and ostracizing—mostly about her having been announced on short notice and Sherry's forgetting to—that was something she would have to talk to Sherry about... But thanks to the other girl, there hadn't been much conflict—that came with perks of personally knowing the school president.

None of the administrators knew that they were here either.

If Rainy truly had a choice, she wouldn't be here—he main reason being was to just pass the time. If given the true choice, she would have been back home, socks propped up the headboard of her bed, the smell of leftover blunts seeping in under her bedroom door, and probably the sounds of bed springs and other noises drifting from the opposite side of the house—that is, _if_ her mother wasn't either high herself or walking with her clothes unbuttoned.

There is also another reason, another fact that she knew: Sherry would not have stopped pleading if Rainy didn't agreed to go, and Rainy couldn't see any other probable solution that wouldn't result in her exposing her secret and oddity.

two girls are separate from the group now, and to tell the truth, neither even know _what _they were going to do for decorations.

Rainy was just following orders

like she always does

They make it to the art classroom on the other side of the building. Rainy is the one who opens the door with a set of keys given, Sherry cowering behind. The closet door creaks when Sherry opens it, and the girl's hair stands on end. She has to take a shaking breath before diving into the clutter of never-ending art supplies in a large bin.

Rainy keeps watch at the door, as she was told, a task she couldn't understand the use for. But it put Sherry at ease, so she didn't argue. She stands near a window in the room, not far behind Sherry.

Outside, it was approaching mid-late day, perhaps around two in the afternoon if the clock on the wall is correct. Bright orange and gold flitters through the windows across the otherwise empty classroom.

"What do you think of this?"

Rainy turns from staring out the window to Sherry now holding up a bucket of dried reddish paint.

Rainy only blinks.

Sherry places it down near the door and returns with two large markers, one black, one a dark red-pink.

Oh—Sherry's favorite color is anything across the spectrum from red to pink

This can be seen by the immensive amount of shaded lip gloss she wears

"C'mon, Rainy. Help me here!"

The brunette continues wearing an undisturbed calm exterior. "Do whatever you want."

Sherry pouts, but her attention was then taken toward the door. She could _swear_ that she had heard something, like the sound of wind, a breeze—but _inside?_

Her eyes were wide as she looks to her friend. "_Please_ tell me you just heard that," she almost pleads.

Rainy is already looking toward the open classroom door. Windows line the side of the hallway and from their angle they could see the dulling sun.

There were no papers or miscellaneous in the hallway as evidence of another presence—the janitors had made sure of that. More so, the A/C had cut off not too long after they had arrived to this room, so it definitely wasn't the vents...

Rainy nods in answer. She turns back toward the strawberry blonde and the subject rolls over her shoulder just like so many others. "So what else you want to look for? We can probably get into the room next door from hear and get some of those cardboards I think they were using this week." She was obviously unfazed, pointing to the single door connecting both classrooms.

It takes Sherry a moment to recollect herself, however. And when she does, she pauses, stutters a response but agrees. After gathering the supplies that are needed, both girls left to regroup. Rainy has to quicken her pace as her friend scurries ahead, still spooked.

Sometimes Sherry marvels at her friend's bravery, how Rainy never seems to be _disturbed_ or even phased, or even angered. She always kept herself under control, and had a way of managing her emotions where it was impossible to rile her up. Sometimes Sherry wishes she could have that ability—Sherry doesn't know the curse she would have cast upon herself, because if she only knew...

On the way back, Sherry nearly jumps out of her skin hearing a locker slam echo.

**. . .**

"No! I _swear _that there was something there!" she cries.

"You're just over exaggerating again, Sherry."

"_I know what I saw_," Sherry pouts, snapping at the boy in the sweater-vest.

Rainy looks up to watch the others. Her hand drags lazily across the page to smooth out wrinkles. She was placed a ways off from the group, the group which involved Sherry and three boys whom Rainy never really cared for, spread across the tile floor drawing across an expansive paper—Sherry is the one positioned between Rainy and the others; after all, she's the one who invited the tagalong.

Rainy thought to tell that they had only _heard_ the sound, but decides it best to stay out of the quarrel. There is always a kind of tension between these two that Rainy could never place her finger on. A kind of tension that always threatened to break open a window or slam a textbook over his head and _scream_. Sherry was always on the verge of screaming around him, but this wasn't for him and she was here because she made a promise to help with setup.

But to be honest, Rainy too was put off by the mysterious noises. It didn't make sense, not when the rest of their group was almost halfway across the campus...

Rainy had become so lost in thought, it wasn't until her world turns on its side does she realize that she had been pushed over in an attempt to get her attention. The quarrel pauses and Sherry continues staring down at the girl with her hands still outstretched from nudging too hard, and her eyes are wide and questioning. Those behind her held similar expressions. _Why hadn't she noticed this at first?_

Rainy gets back to lying on her stomach. "What?" Her voice is curt and tart.

"...Are you okay, Rainy?"

She doesn't answer. Her eyes only narrow slightly, "Well," Sherry sighs, changing the subject, "I was _trying _to get your attention to tell Lima Bean here who doesn't think that 14 atoms of oxygen is in white phosphorus and refuses to believe that it is highly flammable and is hazardous in the air. C'mon, we _just_ learned about this and everything and he doesn't think that I'm right."

Rainy's gaze shifts between Sherry and the dirty-blonde she had been arguing with. A thought ran through her mind about the size of the boy's nose...

She thinks back to first hearing about it, a page in a textbook, memory quite clear. "White phosphorus _is_ highly flammable..." she mumbles.

Sherry beams.

Another boy who had been watching was a boy with short dreadlocks under a beanie. He was known simply as Skeeter and was a close friend of the school president, according to Sherry—but then again, Rainy was growing untrusting of many things she was saying; she was untrusting about everyone.

Rainy's gaze flickers over from Sherry and Liam Pearce—the dirty blonde—to Skeeter; she doesn't care that Sherry is scowling at him like he just killed her cat. In fact, she doesn't even realize it.

It is because of Skeeter how they were even able to get a key to the building—his uncle is one of the janitors.

Skeeter momentarily forgets about the plans in his lap and chews on the pen between his teeth, continuing to watch. He was only here as an extra pair of hands and the keys anyways.

Rainy had easily lost interest in the poster once she realizes that this had turned into a glaring contest. That, or Liam sincerely displeased her—it could be any of the two. And not wanting to take any chances, she then looks back to Sherry, whispering that they had to go back and look for...tape and glitter, anything she could think as an excuse.

Sherry had been too caught up in her heated argument to take any actual notice, and soon it was Rainy's heels clicking down the tile at a noticeable hurried pace.

Only when she was far enough and around the corner, Rainy's hands slaps her face and an audible sigh tumbles from her lips. Her hands drug lazily down her face but still nothing, she couldn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything and she pauses. She knows that she was relatively disliked throughout the school but then again, most of it was directed towards her _father_ and therefore indirectly expressed to her. And then there were those stemming from rumors started from the boys she had turned down. _And_ _then_, it was the fact that—hardly any either took notice of, or didn't care for—was her outward appearance, traits that were noticeably from her mother, such as her dark olive tone, her nose.

Her shoes made a small noise when she stops to take in her surroundings and then realizes she had gone down the wrong direction and would have to walk passed the group again to get back to the art room. She continues on anyhow. With luck, she found an open classroom and decides to be here for the rest of the time than out there. It is quiet, and with less to pay attention to, she could think and try to rationalize their decisions and what spurred their argument. The window she pulls a stool up to gave a clear view of the neighboring highway and she watches as two people seem to get into a fight over a device or some sort. This continues for some time until Rainy notices the color change of sun rays in the room. It is approaching dusk and she thinks this as a good excuse to leave the campus for the day.

She hates this. Sometimes she really would have hated all this. This town, this school, the way she was now..._why _did her father ever decide to run for major? Maybe if he and her mother had negotiate their issues, _maybe _all this wouldn't have happened...

The words haunt her, about her father, about her own decisions, about those interested in her, _about_ _her_...

_"Why do you refuse to participate? Are you that weak?"_

_"You're never apart of anything_  
_you think you're better than everyone?"_

_"You don't really talk to anyone"_

_"So you think we're not as creditable...?"_

_"...C'mon baby doll, what's not to love..?"_

_"So I'm not good enough?  
You act like you're better"_

_"Have a little sympathy, huh?"_

_"Just because your father's gonna run the town you think you're pretty special?"_

She replies with a harsh "no" and a hint of a scowl at the last one comment

Sherry was one of the first who noticed the onslaught of slews that were bombarding the girl and had since all but taken Rainy under her wing. But even now, though she was grateful for the kindness shown, Rainy still found herself drifting to be alone. Just as now.

But what else was she supposed to do?

Leaving the classroom, Rainy keeps an eye open for any movement or inappropriate sound.

This is how it usually happened, right? Following some noise in an empty building usually brought the feeling of fear or disposition, both of which she's met worse with and were somethings she wouldn't have to worry about. At least not now, not with literally unable to feel it. And it isn't until she rounds another corner does her ears pick up a low, quick grunt.

There is definitely someone here

Rainy slinks inside the next room—the door surprisingly left cracked open—and fumbles in her left jacket pocket. All she has is a wallet and a bus token. She quickens to go behind the large desk at the front of the room and digs into the drawers to find a boxcutter as she heard a locker door slam outside. She leaves, following the sound. She quickens her pace until she is just under a jog. But when she arrives at where she thought was the source of the sound, she found no one, and the hallway completely empty.

"Coward!" she grumbles, thinking this was some sort of prank. Rainy crosses her arms and turns on her heels, mumbling to herself all the way back to the classroom about poor excuses and weak minds. However, she comes to halt in the doorway seeing another resuming her search in the desk drawers. A bag is thrown across the desktop and a head of grey is shuffling nose-deep in the bottom drawer.

QUIET

"_YOU AGAIN!_"

Pietro practically jumps, releasing a slight yelp. He now stares at her, wide-eyed and guilty.

"Are you following me?"

He just stares. But she doesn't look angered, doesn't look fazed at all, actually. He hadn't been expecting anyone to find him. ...Well, that's what he gets for slowing down for once...

"What are you even doing here?" she continues. There's a pause and then she's stomping towards him.

"What are _you _doing here? This is a closed premises if you hadn't noticed," he retorts.

She sees that he is still in the drawer she must have left open. "You _are _following me," she realizes. "You really are a stalker."

"Okay." He holds up a hand and then a finger. "First of all I'm not a stalker—where did that even _come from?!_" He holds up another finger and proceeds to stand from behind the large desk. She can see that he's cradling a surprisingly large amount of snacks in one arm. "And second, I might have to report you to the office, _sweetie_. You can get into quite a lot of trouble being here after-hours. Not a good rap for someone named _Juliet_."

He's smirking, knowing he probably struck a nerve with that acquired name.

Rainy watches that shit-eating smirk grow on his face but then pauses. She realizes that she couldn't blow this guy off like she had done the others—he would be one of the harder ones to shake off.

She slowly opens her mouth, speaking calmly. "How'd you even get in here?"

Pietro stands and shoves the snack-packets of nuts and sweeteners in the small bag he brought and slings it over his shoulder. He empties an entire snack packet of peanuts into his mouth and his hair is a mess. And once again, Rainy finds herself questioning it.

"That's for me to know and you to not worry your sweet little head about." He waves, pats her head once as he passes.

Pietro "Peter" Maximoff.  
Gender, Male.  
Premature silvery-grey hair  
Dark brown eyes.  
Birthday, May 10  
Transian-born American citizen  
Mutation, Speed.

Rainy blinks. And he slinks past her and keeps walking, not giving any more acknowledgment. Her eyes follow as he exits into the hallway.

"And now you can go back home to Daddy and act like this never happened, yeah?"

She follows him from the classroom. "Just because my father is involved in a campaign does no mean that I give any concern for it. I am not apart of his work nor do I care for it. So, to presume that I am, in fact, some girl who rides off of her parents' work for self-gratification, that's just as wrong as you thought you could get away with your shenanigans."

Pietro watches her arms folding.

"I wouldn't care whether he lost _or_ won," she speaks.

"Well that isn't very nice now is it?" Sarcasm rolls off the comment as he comes to another door, bending to be eye-level with the doorknob.

He glances over his shoulder to see that she hasn't answered, and is instead staring down at him. He sighs exaggeratedly, rolling his eyes. "Now why don't you go run along back to your hypocritical social group. I've got big things to take care of here."

She sees that smile had yet to decrease and she can tell that arrogance radiated from him. She intakes a breath and his expression falters the slightest.

"What if I told them that you were here," she challenges. "There's a chance they'd come after you on the spot, since no one is supposed to be up here besides us." She fingers the sharp objects she managed to nab from the desk drawer. "Anyways, stealing isn't a big expedition."

"The key word in that blame is _were_, as in, _had been _here," he answers a heartbeat afterwards. He pats himself down before pulling out a bobby hairpin from his jeans pocket. "Besides, you wouldn't do it," he smirks in disbelief. He sees her lips open but interrupts; he leans closer, tilting on the balls of his beat up sneakers and whispers in a joking manner, "I know what you are. Don't think I wouldn't have found out."

That smirk is back on his face; he works on the doorknob with the bobby-pin. A few seconds later, he jiggles the door and it opens. Rainy's fingers curl around the boxcutter in her pocket. Never has she confronted this boy like this before without any others eyes to witness; they were alone, she didn't know his motives, and she didn't trust him.

Pietro doesn't say another word as he steps into the classroom he just opened. Rainy remains in the doorway.

The one mistake he made was turning his back on her

"Oh really...? Now who told you my secret?"

Pietro takes a step back and readies to turn to her in question when a weight slams on the back of his sneaker. In the seconds it takes for him to slightly lose his balance and yelp, something hits the back of his knees and he stumbles, his back meeting the edge of the desk with his arms behind himself for balance, and with more than a frazzled surprise that he was expecting.

SHARP

Pietro's yelp cuts short as something jabs at his jugular. Rainy looms over him, knees bent and apart as if ready to fight. Her face is emotionless and Pietro registers that she is holding him hostage.

Now in this situation, he could easily get away, just easily move her arm and run. But he wasn't that thoughtless—he knew that if he did, that if he did use his powers in pointblank range of a girl whose family could gain _much _control over the town, also given the mutants living here...

Well, he wasn't that indiscreet

"Don't. Move." She leaves the air open for a response.

Pietro feels the thin razor of the boxcutter press into the skin of his throat. He doesn't dare move.

"Oh, I said it wrong. My mistake." She tucks a lock of brown hair behind her ear. "_You can move if you want, but it'd be very dangerous_ is what I should have said." And she pauses. "Curiosity...it's so much like a cockroach, isn't it?—getting into places and secrets it best not to be. That's more than annoying."

_"Hey...!"_

There are obscenities ready to roll off his tongue but he figures that now isn't the best time to let them fly.

"What's wrong?"

_Is she mocking him?_

The blade of the razor presses further into his skin, but not enough to puncture, not enough to wince. His gaze flickers to the side, in the direction he had left his back. "Just listen and this will be over quicker," she orders calmly. "And I'll leave you to return to your whatever delinquent pleasures." She speaks to wide dark eyes.

_She is mocking him!_

CLICK CLICK

"Really, what was I thinking? It was only a matter of time until someone like you found out, wasn't it? Though I must say, I was quite careless. A geek obviously doesn't listen to a darn thing, do you?" She speaks mostly to herself. She now has the boxcutter sliding down his throat and he found the repeated thought of the stability of her psyche questioned. "You found out didn't you, that day in science class those years ago. You noticed didn't you?"

_"My memory doesn't exceed this year. Before that, nothing"  
_She lied

Pietro's eyes flickered to the burn barely covered by her jacket's rolled up sleeve.

"You've been onto me ever since?"

Well, to be truthful, it had remained at the edge of mind and only peaked this year whenever he saw her

"You were right—just to set your little mind at rest—I couldn't feel it. In fact, I can't feel at all."

Pietro's brows arched.

"Well, not entirely," she adds. "What I'm about to tell you better not leave this room." The razor presses just the slightest into the base of his throat; he nods vigorously. And so Rainy continues. "It happened in middle school after my father made the decision to get into politics. I met a sort shaman at a carnival. He cursed me and stripped me of the ability to feel as well as my emotions and some of my memories. Despite, I have been working for a long time to keep this hidden."

Pietro's eyes remain wide, but mainly from the razor threatening to carve out his voice box. He looks at this girl and found no remorse. He looks up to her and his mind is filled with questions.

"Oh, it's alright if you don't understand—I wouldn't expect you to anyway. I'm merely explaining this to you because I know that someone like you would just keep poking your nose everywhere and just cause more of a ruckus until you found out."

Pietro's brows remain in the air.

"Maximoff, wasn't it? Such an unusual name. But then most last names are." She moistens her lips. She tastes his name on her tongue again.

QUIET

_"I cannot feel_

_I have no emotions either"_

PAUSE

"Now, what do I have to do in order to keep you quiet about it?" She muses, and there's almost a smirk that appears but it is gone before he could be sure. "What do I have to do in order to make sure that you would never reveal this even to the most desperate souls and not have mouth ripped open? Or should I just disable your mouth instead?"

Pietro starts to blabber but stops at feeling the razor slide along his skin, keeping him to the desktop wood. He winces, grinding his teeth.

She continues. "After all, all I want is your silence and valuable word. Is that too much to ask?" It was not a true question. "If you can promise me that, nod your head twice. Anything else, as well as remaining silent, will be taken as a 'no.'" And she would attack, he knew. Her chin tilts up and her eyes are cat-like.

Like there wasn't enough hostility in this situation...

He nods.

SHARP

SMILE

Rainy forces a smiled as if she hadn't been about to puncture and scar him. And again, he is thrown off.

"Ok. Thank you."

He almost sighs in relief as the satisfying clicks as she leans back and starts to slowly retract the boxcutter, lowering it his side. Pietro glances from her hand and back at her eyes, brows furrowing. She seems to pause before her hand flicks back up.

SLICE

Pietro hisses and holds his mouth. The edge of the blade nicks his bicep on accident as it tore a small rip in his shirt sleeve.

"Oops, my hand slipped." It was said with apathy. She tilts her head just in the slightest. "You didn't scream. Impressive."

Pietro doesn't reply. His mind is moving rapidly in anger and shock and a possible revenge.

Rainy rests a hand on her hip. "I'll spare you this time, Maximoff, but I promise you..." She backs away, leaving the threat unfinished purposely. "See to it that you ignore me from now on, okay?"

Pietro did all but growl at her.

"Please," he spits. His look went unnoticed by her.

The only sound after that was Rainy's heels fading down the tile.

The setting sun's rays filter unto the almost-empty halls of the school, turning the inside pale oranges and yellows.

Pietro held a hand to his arm, feeling the thin slice in his skin and tear in his sleeve. His arm would heal in a day or two. His shirt however...

Rainy meets up with the others and Sherry questions on where she had been. The boys were preparing to leave; Sherry wasn't.

_"...shaman who stripped me of feeling and my emotions."_

_"..."_

_"Oh, there's no need for you to understand  
__I'm only telling you this because it'd only cause more problems if you were to snoop around any more,  
__Maximoff.  
__Maximoff...  
__Hey Maximoff..."_

_Capulet._

_She kept repeating his name, over and over._

_"I have no feeling of touch...  
__I have no emotion..."_

_Capulet._

_She kept repeating his name, over and over._

_"There's no feeling to me.  
__Nothing whatsoever."_

"I'm empty," is what she wanted to say

_"I'm cursed.__"_

_Right, Maximoff?_

There was no need for him to understand or worry, right? This wasn't his problem; it had nothing to do with him—she told him herself. Even though she was mysteriously cursed. And the mysterious popular girl who barely talked about herself, if at all, had come at him. That this girl that no one could annoy her even if they tried their hardest, and she had just come at him... Sure, Rainy doesn't talk to many besides a very select few in her friends group, and just because Pietro found out that she is probably bad luck doesn't give any reason why he should meddle further...right?

Pietro curses.

* * *

**_A/N: oh god. I feel like i screwed this up! gAH! Did I throw anybody off with this chapter? More explanations will of course be coming soon!_**

**_Replies:  
_****_Cyanide Siren: _**_of course! I'm a nice person!  
__**pngrum:** Thank youuu! I'm trying to write more because I reallly like this fic idea :) There will definitely be more moments coming. _


	12. Chapter 8: Stop Insisting

_**A/N: So I want to thank all of you who are adding this to your story alerts and even greater thank you for (I hope you are) not losing hope in me and this story. You have no idea how much that means to me. :) **__**Especially when school constantly ruins your mood.**_

* * *

Meisha blinks water from her eyes, feeling the warm spray fall from the shower-head onto her face and a barely audible moan comes from her lips. She watches the warm water stream down her slim body, across her unmarked skin to her feet, and then disappear down the drain. And she can't help but think: her smooth, unscathed, _unmarked_ skin—her virgin skin.

Her arms rise to wrap around her waist and she rests her forehead against the cold tile and finds her breath coming out heavy. Her hair is limp and unbraided, falling to the bottom of her thighs. Her mind trails to memories of a few days ago with the two she calls friends. Meisha's fingers press into her tan skin and she shuts her eyes tightly. She doesn't register the sudden choke for air she makes then.

Her virgin skin

Her bangs are soaked as they frame her face, and she sigh before pushing them back with one hand.

A part of her doesn't want to be alone; a part of her wants to be one of those girls in the hallways when her hand draped around another's arm, fingers intertwined, to feel large, stronger arms wrap around her instead of er own.

Her teeth digs into her lip, feeling the ends of her hair begin to twitch on its own again in discomfort. Meisha tries to remain calm—but her mind just _couldn't_. Her mind is racing with memories, with fantasies and suggestions, with wishes she wants to make reality. This wasn't the first time her mind has wondered like this—thoughts towards a certain friend that definitely exceeded past friendship were a reoccurrence for almost a full two years now.

Breathing is harder now in the shower steam. She blinks several times, and wipes the condensation from her eyelashes with the back of her hands. Meisha heaves another sigh. All this was way too heavy.

The faucet gives a slight squeak as she turns the water off. She has a deep purple towel that she wraps around her hair after ringing it out in the shower. She purposely squeezes her hair tighter than was necessary.

Steam creates a thin layer of moisture across every surface in the small bathroom. She wipes she the mirror for a clear view. Remnants of the heat prickles her skin as her bare feet touch the cold floor. Showers were one of the few times she could relax, one of the few places she felt that didn't _have_ to worry about becoming a psycho—because she she could sing or vent to herself or cry and there was no chance anyone would see. It is almost therapeutic too.

Her second towel remains abandoned on the hook near the shower curtain. The mix of the steam and the cool air seeping from under the door cause goosebumps to explode across her body.

She isn't sure how long she had been in there; her parents were outside, elsewhere in their one-story house.

Meisha frowns at her reflection. All she sees is frizzing, ugly red hair against slightly too-tanned skin and light brown, almost golden, puffy eyes with equally puffy skin—all traits she acquired from her parents; now if only they could find out where she got her eyes from... There are bags under her eyes from staying up late one too many nights, and a faint trail of freckles that splayed across her face, in her mind, reminded her of a raccoon.

Needless to say, some parts of her way of thinking hasn't changed

Meisha pokes at her face and scowled this time. She pulls at a bottom eyelid, annoyed at what she sees. She didn't want to step outside with pink-rimmed eyes like this. Her parents would surely notice and she didn't want to sit and try to explain to them what she couldn't even tell her closest friends.

She had teared up again sometime during her shower up again. Her nose holds a pink tinge as well.

_"Teared up" again_

Her hands fall to the counter in a huff. This had been enough, she told herself, but continues to scowl at what she sees in the mirror. This is enough of just standing around, being "one of the guys"—she gives herself a pep talk again—she's in high school now for goodness sake!

Wrapping herself in her second towel, she exits to go her bedroom to dress in the pair of overalls Pietro remarked about once.

She o going over to meet the boys today. And as she slides on a sock, she freezes, a thought passing through her mind that makes her nervous and a blush spread across her cheeks.

_Thoughts that definitely exceeded friendship_

Meisha was sure that Wanda Maximoff would probably—likely—give her hell if ever found out.

* * *

The school's library is mostly empty except for a few study sessions and overachievers. It's regarded as one of the more boring locations on campus by some, and a good place to drop off students by other teachers.

Such as today, for example. One classes had been scheduled to visit the library for an assignment, and it was study hall, a free class period, for others. While one class's teacher is generous teacher that allowed students to roam free. The others have one that's cranky, chapped lipped, and a grating, _offensively condescending _voice that monitors them for this study hal period. Students the to watch others with sealed lips and remain silent lest they'd have a wet _shush _from their teacher fly their way.

Rainy is a part of the second class. Exiting the bookshelves and to the large wooden study-tables, hands at her side, she merely glances at a boy behind her who is readying to flick a paper football to another several tables in front of her. Their teacher is turned away and Rainy wants to feel bad, even for them; they all were stuck with the strict one who sneers at the slightest noise.

Rainy had left her schoolbag at the table she shared with Michelle and a few others, and had gone to left to waste time at the shelves, not finding any productivity partaking in their gossip. She uses her time to do so something productive, and to her, homework is the obvious choice since. There is nothing else to do. Since there is nothing else she _could_ do. Michelle and the others at the table are discussing something about suspicions about one student or another.

Students from the first class circle the shelves of the nonfiction section and Rainy makes a bee-line until she comes to an aisle with less others who are fighting over encyclopedias. The class is here for a sort of scavenger hunt; Rainy thinks it's a science class.

She stares at worn patterns etched into the bookshelves. She doesn't trail her hand across the polished wood anymore. She hadn't any reason to given she wouldn't feel it anyhow. There are marks and signatures carved into the shelves from over the years. Along one of the sideboards, someone has carved two names in a heart. Next to it, probably some years later, a knife had made an arrow through the heart surrounded it with obscenities.

It would be similar to if blood circulation throughout her body had stopped, or, similar to emerging from a stay in a tub of ice water. These were the examples Rainy could come up with if she was ever asked. This is how it felt to not feel at all.

Back at the table, Michelle waves, hoping to catch the attention of the boy sitting in the chairs across from her, and she gestures to the entrance of the school library. The lot begins to snicker at something said about the girl with the long red braid who walks in then. Meisha's in the too-long sleeved shirt under denim overalls. The girl looks around the library for a moment before disappearing into the section of history books and map encyclopedias, long braid flowing behind her.

_"Meisha Babinski never laughs."_

_"She only does to her own jokes she keeps to herself."  
_

_"She'll snicker to jokes she makes up herself  
that she snickers and mutters to herself."_

_"She talks to herself."_

_"She doesn't talk at all."_

_"Meisha never laughs_

_Unless she's with one of those other geek weirdoes she hangs around."_

When Meisha comes to the aisle, the gray-haired other who had been walking beside her had vanished. She would have sighed but Meisha had become well-adjusted to Pietro's behavior. Of how he would be beside her one second but then disappear the next, returning eating out a box of snacks. She marveled at how he managed to avoid growing overweight with the amount he eats. Meisha also marvels at him for different things...

She scans the titles along her left as she walks, a finger raised absentmindedly to trace the wording etched in the book spines as she passes. An map about land elevation in Asia is what she is looking for. Meisha is a part if the guest class here who had decided to take a spontaneous trip to the library. Many of the required books for this assignment were already taken by students rushing to finish in order to gain those few extra credit points.

Meisha holds up the work directions again, flicking her wrist to make her loose, stripped sleeve fall from her knuckles to her elbow, and then double-back to check again for that book needed. She stands on tip toes, looks to the directions again. It isn't here. She suspects someone had gotten to this one again. Sighing as she turns to leave, Meisha stops in her tracks seeing a bushy-haired brunette popping gum and sliding her hands high up a shelf above at the far end of the book aisle.

Mckenzie Shabotz  
Gender, Female.  
Bushy, dark brown curly hair  
Dark brown eyes  
Birthday, August 25  
Caucasian American-born citizen

Meisha's hands unconsciously tighten on her sheet of paper. Instead of continuing, she turns to the opposite way to wait at the other end of the aisle and wait for the girl to leave, all the while, huffing under her breath.

It is obvious that Mckenzie doesn't want to be here—she always complains about this—and Meisha is _partially certain_ that the fall of books that happen then is caused by her. The brunette wears and uninterested, not-caring, and blatantly _bored_-looking permanent pout. The redhead could tell _that _much. As well as the way Mckenzie muses about the shelves, oblivious that it isn't allowed to copy _someone_ _else's_ answers. Also, that she'd rather be doing _other_ things... Mckenzie pops another purple bubble of gum before sighing loudly and turning to round the corner to join the others she hangs out with.

A small gust of wind hits Meisha's side and she doesn't have to turn around to know its cause. The ends of a breath faintly wisps the nape of her neck as Pietro comes to a sudden halt behind her.

And then her pulse leaps in her chest

"Hey Meisha I—-" He stops to catch the last sight of the brunette turning the corner to return to her friends.

He calls after her, but it was either spoken too quickly or she hadn't heard. Both mutants watch the girl disappear around the corner. Pietro hastily shoves the few books he had gathered on a nearby side table. Meisha watches him with narrowed eyes as he takes a steadying breath and pulls at his sweater to straighten it before striding to where the brunette had gone, and Meisha's shoulders slump. She knows he isn't going to approach her friends that way, at least, not directly.

The girl had continued on without a glance behind; Mckenzie takes no notice at all and he can hear her complaining the next aisle over.

Pietro smirks. "'Kenzie," he calls out again. He could see her—at least, he hoped it was her—through the spaces between the books.

If the girl knew it was him who called her by that self-given nickname, she would have _not_ been happy...

Meisha listens, rolls her eyes, and proceeds flipping through the books Pietro indirectly brought her, searching for an answer for this treasure hunt assignment. She doesn't follow him and begins talking to herself about stubbornness and oblivious and cursed shyness.

"Hey, Mckenzie!"

Two dictionaries over, a book is pulled and Pietro speeds over to be the one to greet her on the other side with a wide, cheeky grin.

Meisha can see him bouncing on his toes, figuring there was just no way to diverge him otherwise from this plan and would have to let him ride out this heartache on his own. She grabs the rest of the books and leaves.

Pietro fidgets his hands in his pockets hearing the book on the other end taken and then resolved, and then the next one over is taken—where Mckenzie had removed one, so there would now be only an empty space between the shelf to talk. But his smile quickly waters down when it isn't the girl he had been hoping looking out from the other side.

Both he and Rainy freeze, the look on their features radiating discomfort and _much_ awkwardness. Rainy is still holding the large book, raised in her hand and Pietro watch her slanted eyes and imagine them seeping venomously. She opens her mouth and he knows she is about to spit an accusation, but he has his hands up before she could utter a word.

"This isn't what it looks—-"

She doesn't care and interrupts. "I thought I told you to stay away from me." She pauses. "You're following me." She still holds a straight face. "But then again, I shouldn't be surprised," she adds. "I should have known. I was foolish to think you wouldn't have shown resistance. But I didn't think it'd be this fast."

"Still rude," his lips pucker. "And next time I need someone to extremely bitter I'd come to you first. You aren't exactly on my top list either sweetheart."

Her brows raises out of habit.

"Ya know...I know someone who could help with your _problem_." He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "You might like it too. They have darkness, long flowy dresses, and lots of control over themselves. Heard they're awesome and have a whole bunch of potions and even a sale on cauldrons and brooms you might like. Of course, you might catch them better around Halloween. You all have the same attitude though; I'm sure you'll get along _swell_."

Rainy continues frowning at him. Or maybe, he thought, that was her normal look. He notes that to be a question for another day.

"That's beyond the point," he waves his hands, still blabbering. "Besides, you shouldn't go around saying you're surprised. Just doesn't fit your _image_," he mocks. "Because, you know, it'd be a shame if that little secret of yours were to leak out." His gaze flickers to the book she still has raised in one hand and a grey eyebrow raises.

Rainy didn't say any more and leaves, and Pietro follows her to the next book she pulls. "That's a pretty odd book for someone like you to be reading, isn't it?" He points an arm through the space. Now, he swears that her eyes narrow dangerously.

The smirk on his face grows in arrogance.

The book she holds is a romance of sorts. He can tell that much by the cowboy and the damsel atop the horse and the cursive writing he's seen on some of his sister's books. Rainy quickly tucks it away with the others held in her arms.

"My, Maximoff, is that a threat? You just don't know how to keep your nose out of things, do you? Would I have to cut your tongue off after all?"

He barks a laugh. Insults were one of the things that he cared least for; threats certainly didn't faze him.

Pietro pokes his head in the space between them. "I'd like to see you're smart little ass try," and backs out before she could lash out at him, which she doesn't even, but just in case. "You'd never be able to catch me. No one has yet or ever will. You wanna know how," he asked, and not waiting for a response: "'cause I'm the fastest thing alive. I can take your world and drop it on your head before you'd even know what happened."

...Was he threatening her?

"And you never know, I might just mention your little _"problem"_ to Clarice or someone. I don't know, it might just _slip_."

If there is a problem one had—if one was from a poor family, or weird kink or embarrassing habit, or a health issue—Clarice would know of almost everyone in school, and use it to build herself up.

That _was_ a threat

Rainy's gaze flickered to the direction of his shoulder. "Aw," she speaks in mock disappointment. "I was hoping you'd have a gnarly scar. It'd add character...and mystery, something interesting." A finger flickers to her lips before returning to hold her books. "I hope that assumed _"fast"_ characteristic of yours doesn't apply to everything." Her lips twist into what she hopes is a smirk. "Or else, that would be a shame it would hinder your relationship like that.."

It is his turn to glare. He growls, "why you little—-"

"Don't get mad at facts, Maximoff."

His words begin running together, and she can see just the smallest hint of color spreading up his neck. "You know that's not what I meant!"

"You said it, not me."

"You are such a _witch_ you know that?!"

She's unfazed, still with a calm look to her face.

"And those're mighty big words coming from somebody who hasn't even had a boyfriend." He pauses for a second, his face scrunching up a little, expecting a comeback. When there isn't one, he continues. "You don't, do you, _I_ _presume_?" It was in sarcasm. "So how _would _someone like you even _know _something as that, hm?"

She would have scowled at this, but instead, keeps watching him bounce on his feet.

"And I wonder how'd he be about your _little issue._"

Rainy's tone remains flat. "Speak of this to no one or you'd get more than just a scratch on your arm." He can easily tell it was not a question. Regardless, a smirk curls his lips. "Lest I have a little chat with Mckenzie over here..."

"Was that supposed to scare me?"

"I don't know. Were you really going to risk trying to make me look bad?"

And then a glaring match resumes. Heavy tension only Pietro could feel passes between the small space between the bookshelf. Finally, Rainy glances down, returned one of the large books in her arms to the empty space.

Still, he persists, talking through the shelf. "Why does it seem that whenever I try to say something, you're so crabby.?"

"Why is it that you persist to stalk me—-?"

"Will you stop with the stalking. Why the heck would I stalk _you_?!"

"Oh, so you _are_ admitting that you do..?"

"No—-!"

"How sad," she tisks as if he hadn't spoken at all, and left, only to find him still close.

Rainy was incredibly blunt

"Were you not taught the concept of personal space? It's a very valuable thing," she calls back.

She didn't stop and is already turning another corner, getting further and wanting to leave this conversation behind. But when she enters the next aisle, a figure could be seen through the book spaces and Rainy pushes them aside to find Pietro staring back at her.

"I'm not sure it's that valuable. You're just being mean."

"What would it take to get rid of you..." she sighs, almost as if she is speaking to herself. "I'd should have done it day you where snooping about." She watches him smack him wet his lips. "Now I'm beginning to regret ever telling you that secret because you are surely to blurt it out to someone..."

His gaze studies her.

"Should I have not told that to you, Maximoff?" She finalizes, her face deadpan. "Just know that if you answer _"no,"_ then you are indicating that you are, in fact, unreliable and I do not hold mercy for or have any tolerance for unreliable people."

"Wouldn't it be considered two-faced to say that you, yourself, feel mercy, seeing as—-"

BLOCK

She shoves the book back in its place, blocking him. It just graces his nose, otherwise if he had been leaning any closer, he would have received more than a hard knocking.

Pietro could could hear her shoes shuffling on the carpet as she leaves and he pauses to think, weighing his chances, considering his outcomes.

"Ice Queen!" he calls—practically yells—after her. "Hey, Juliet!" He catches up to her in the textbook section where students could rent to do homework in the library. He comes to a stop and watches her with hands in his pockets as he stands, looking over her shoulder as she squatting to level with the lowest shelf. "I want to ask you something." He lowers himself as well.

"Of course it was too good to think you would learn." When hearing that he had a question, she mutters, oozing sarcasm, "_delightful_."

Peter cranes his neck to peer at the open book she flips through. He ignores her snappiness. "I wanted to ask you..."

Rainy refuses to look up. Her attention is only taken seeing a foreign hand slowly closing the book in front of her, and she uses her finger to mark her place but still keeps her gaze fixed on her lap.

"...What _is_ your name, exactly," he spoke. His gaze is fixed on her but to his disappointment, she only looks calm. "I mean you already know mine is Maximoff—Peter, actually, by the way," his hands flew to his chest upon reintroducing himself. There is a slight smile he wears, but when she does finally look over to him, she has none whatsoever.

"What? So? What's my name have anything to you? It's none of your business."

His brows crinkles and she barks what was supposed to be a chuckle. "Funny. So what's this for, a prank? What bet did you lose?"

_"Pfffft_. Why do you people always assume I'm here with some sort of _agenda_ or to _gain_ something?"

It was the bet against Ronny, actually, to why he asked. But he wouldn't have agreed to chase her if he didn't find her _somewhat_ interesting.

He flashes her a cocky smile. "Can't a guy just ask the name to a...a fellow classmate? Ya know, that's the first step for becoming _social_."

Rainy continues to frown, looking him in the eyes. This silence persists longer than he would have liked and he watches her lips part slowly as finally she draws in a slow breath...

"No," she finally states, firmly.

Peter's smirk fades, his eyes trained on her as she stood.

"No. Now for the last time, go away. Don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't think about about me. You are to ignore me. None of this," her finger waggles between them, "ever happened. We have _never _met." She shuffles the books in her arms as she stands and glares down with a hard look he wasn't sure she was making on purpose. "But if you _ever_ reveal to_ anyone_ what I had told you, I will make sure that you regret it."

And with that, she goes to check her books to the counter, grabs her bag, and leaves the building, Michelle not even getting an answer to why.

That was the last time Peter Maximoff spoke to Rainy Capulet. He did see her in the halls, but even he knew that he couldn't keep that promise. He knew that he couldn't live up to her orders. Not when there was forty dollars in cash on the line.


	13. Chapter 9: Usual Abnormal Possibilities

**_A/N: I just lost a follower! Am I doing something wrong?!_**

**_I wish I had a names for Peter's little sister in the movie. she's just going to be called "the smallest Maximoff." I don't want her to be Lorna because I'm planning for her to come in later in the story, but they never confirmed it was her either._**

* * *

The smallest Maximoff journeys through the suburban house calling out for her mother. She had already awoken from her nap—not without going down with a fight, of course—and could no longer find the one who had put her down. Her stomach rumbles. She's still dressed in a blue tank tank top and cotton shorts.

She goes, dragging her Strawberry Shortcake doll behind her. She was hungry and bored; and the only sounds she can hear were the TVs in the basement and faint music coming from her sister's room. The short girl pauses in the living room. She knows the orders left by her mother was to never touch the stove, and thought it best to get one of her other siblings to do it for her.

Her sister, actually; she goes to find her sister.

Now, this young girl is the youngest child in the Maximoff household, coming behind her older sister and brother.

Wanda &amp; Pietro

They were her older sister and brother. The young girl isa well aware that they were not related by blood, and that they could do many _cool things_ that she could not. But she did know that they lived with them because their mommy "is not here anymore." The young girl knew they were mutants and that she is not; her own mother, Marya, had made sure to explain this to her. She knew the differences, yet she knew that they were all the same. They are her sister and brother; they are her family. Her mother explained this to her at a young age, explained that this fact is something that should not be shared in daycare and her now-elementary school.

The girl rubs her eyes as she shuffles through the living room and almost trips on the hand-me-down pink pajama pants that she had yet to fully grow into.

She calls for her sister. Wanda is always her first go-to.

She calls her sister's name again when she reaches the hallway getting no answer. Her socks padding against the carpet, down the hall to her sister's room. She can hear the faint sound of music playing as she stood outside the bedroom door. She tries the knob but finds it locked. The sound of things moving and falling in an unnaturally manner could be heard through the closed door.

Cranky and hungry, she stamps her little foot. "Wandaaa~!" she yells again.

And she wants attention. She's hungry and thirsty and wants to be played with and probably has to pee but she's going to hold it.

The girl nearly jumps out of her skin when something particularly large and heavy hit the door from inside. It's followed by a shriek from Wanda somewhere in the room. The little girl is already running back down the hall when Wanda moves aside the record player she had hexed and cracks open the door. She doesn't see her younger sister.

The young girl takes a breather once reaching the end of the hall, and after a moment, scoops up her doll and hugs it in her arms. That is when she also notices the newspaper on the coffee table flutter from a nonexistent breeze.

That is also something she's learned. For being so young, she has gotten used to paying attention to small detail in this house, that if you wanted attention, you had to pick up on everything around.

She yells aloud to an empty room. She stands still for a moment and her brown eyes trail to the bookshelf in the corner on the opposite side of the room just in time to see several of the books suddenly disappear and rearrange. It happened so quickly that if she were to blink, she would have missed it.

"Heeeey~!" She screams again, and once more there isn't an answer.

She proceeds to pout until she hears the refrigerator open. Gasping, she runs to the kitchen at full speed. She arrives just in time to catch her elder brother pulling his nose from inside the fridge, a sandwich hanging from his mouth and glass of something in his hand.

She clutches the doll in her arms and frowns deeply.

When Pietro stands, he just stares. She doesn't say anything either until he chews, swallows, and finally speaks.

"What's up, tyke?" His hair is a wild mess, per usual.

She pouts. "Will you play with me?"

He pauses. "You already went to Wanda?"

She nods.

"Well what'd she say?"

"I dunno," she shrugs. "She's doing something in there like throwing her stuff around again. The door's locked too."

Pietro's shoulders slump as he sighs heavily. He gives once last look in the direction of the safe confines of his basement before turning to his younger sister. "Okay. Whadaya wanna play?"

He thinks, he'd have to get rid of those magazines before someone goes down there and sees...

"A party," she answers sheepishly, trying to hold in a smile.

He had already finished his sandwich, licking condiments from his fingers. "Ok, what kinda party?"

"A berry party with me and Strawberry Shortcake. It's our party and we're gonna dress-up with feathers and wear fancy stuff. We need cakes and muffins and cookies and sandwiches and teas to drink. Can you get some? Oh, and our guests are gonna have to find something fancy to wear too when they come."

Pietro is already feeling like he should not have asked. The food would be way to much to cook and would take far too much time. But—

"And I'm hungry."

Pietro gulps down his second glass he had poured and sit it on the counter. He looks down as his youngest sister tugs his hand along.

"I want a sandwich too!" She begins dragging him to her bedroom. "Can you bring it to my room because we gotta go get ready. And then when you do, you have to stay."

"Why—-?"

"'Cause you're one of the guests who have to come."

Later that day, Wanda would obtain _so much_ blackmail, forever immortalizing her brother sitting at a small princess table surrounded by dolls and stuffed animals, dressed in a pink feather boa, tiara, and sprinkled with glitter, pinkie finger out around a plastic teacup to add. His horrified look in the Polaroid photograph solidifies the moment in her opinion.

* * *

To many, having the ability to set things on fire with the snap of a finger, or possessing the force of a hurricane is dangerous. But what the public seems to not be able to grasp is that it is also very dangerous _to_ _those_ who possess this power, not only those around. Such power can make the most minuscule and standard tasks, such as going to the dentist or playing on a playground, a jeopardous and high-risk situation. To the public, and thanks to the media, the label **DANGEROUS** has been slapped on without mercy to all those born that did not fall in the created category of "normal."

The public is starting to only see these people as a _threat_, ignoring that those who are also a danger to themselves _are also_ afraid. This is something Wanda does not understand.

SCENE CHANGE

It first started in gym class. That is when she first noticed the pain. It started slight at first and in her lower stomach; she should have known, really, but unfortunately hadn't give it much thought.

It was half an hour into having to hear the coach hollering at them and Wanda Maximoff could already feel the tendons in the back of her knees ready to rip in half. It was Physical Education class and the students were positioned on the floor on their bums, some stretching, some gritting teeth, all straining to touch their toes without bending his or her knees as instructed. Apparently, this was a _warm-up_ exercise, a task Coach made to appear _a lot _easier than it actually was.

Just like the rest of them, Wanda strained not to focus on the booming orders shouted behind her. And although it was directed at others, she still jumped at the volume of the Coach's voice echoing.

It was a known fact that Coach A—for lack of name mispronunciation, the nickname was self-appointed—is a stickler for _rules_ and "_hard work," _a.k.a_. torture _by students. It's just that most times the teacher didn't seem realize _how_ difficult the dejection masked as so-called encouragement made it all.

"That what you call a stretch, Jepson? My_ grandmother_ can do better than that! And she's over_ forty_!"

Wanda squeezes her eyes shut hearing the Coach approaching. The coach had refused to move on to the next exercise until every single student is touching their toes, no matter the height or legs-to-arm ratio difference.

Wanda glances at the brunette to her right. The girl is sweating and straining just as much as Wanda, her face almost an equal blush of tension and strain.

Sucking in a breath, Wanda concentrates, hoping that _maybe_ even, she could use her powers to cheat. She splays her hands ahead, still trying to reach the ends of her sneakers, and squints her eyes just the slightest. She's so concentrated that she vaguely registers the growing stress in her lower abdomen. She watches as her fingertips began glowing a faint reddish-purple, only stealing a glance to her sides to make sure no one is watching. She feels the familiar rush of her powers and bites her lip to keep from smiling. If she had only taken notice, she would have caught the Coach coming up behind her. But she hadn't, and jumps nearly ten whole inches in the air hearing the booming voice almost directly in her ear.

"Stop looking like you're constipated, Maximoff! And no one is leaving this_ godforsaken gym_ until _everyone_ is done! Stop looking constipated, Maximoff! You better do better than that or you're going to give me twenty laps around the gym!"

All students were already out of breath and sweating, and they had only completed five exercises, so running was one of the last things Wanda wished to do.

But in that moment the coach yelled, the young brunette had snapped forward in reflex. Though she did finally touch the ends of her sneakers, she had felt something in her upper calves snap. She had bit her lip to keep the pain in, but not before a very high, very shrill, and very tortured screech split the gymnasium.

It was painful. Very painful.

**. . .**

Wanda groans, messaging her lower back and traveling the hall with a slight limp in her knees. She curses under her breath, muttering insults and complaints of the past hour's "torture."

Or maybe it was just her...or maybe a few others who had went to the nurse's afterwards for bags of ice for strained muscles and tendons. Either way, Wanda was going to complain. She _hated_ gym, and would skip it if she could but she isn't that confident—not like her brother. It's her least favorite class, and not only because of that beast of a coach; she wonders why it is even called _a_ _class_.

She huffs, absentmindedly blowing a lock of hair from her face. Currently, she burrowing her hands between her knees in the girls' restroom. Her eyes narrow at an unfocused point ahead and she growls in frustration. That pain inside had returned, worse than before. It's somewhere in her lower stomach. She thinks she knows what it means, she hopes it's just a warning and early notice.

She doesn't notice how rapidly the strength of her power is growing.

Just moments before, she had been slightly limping between the flocks of students lallygagging in the halls between class. And in a flurry of a chase, she was knocked against the wall, realizing too late that it was newly painted as she peels her arm from the wall. She had then breezed through and escaped into the bathroom, fingering the new white paint along her skirt and favorite red jacket. She hadn't made eye contact with the girls inside who had held in smirks watching Wanda frantically rinse her hands free of the paint. As soon as they left, she looks into the mirror. Her face is already twisted into a scowl. And the more she glared, hating herself, hating this school and her luck, the more she could feel her power flowing, and for a moment, thought the mirror held a sort of deep purple hue.

She jumps as the mirror splits in half, jumping back just in time as the bottom half falls and shatters in the sink. Wanda frantically turns the water off and steps back, making sure to keep her hands at her from touching anything.

_A broken mirror is seven years of bad luck_

And Wanda is well educated in the aspects of _luck_

She speeds into a bathroom stall just as another pair of girls walk inside. She couldn't let them see her out there, knowing they might connect the dots.

BROKEN

Instead, she listens to the girls speculate about the shards of glass. According to her watch, Wanda didn't have as much time to get to her next class now. She pushes that pain that rises in her lower stomach back and makes a mental note to visit the nurse for pain killers.

Right now, she doesn't feel like dealing with anyone today; she didn't even want to be at school today. Wanda had been feeling _moody_ since the day had began.

And she cringes, the pain suddenly becoming worse and feels nauseous for a moment. She couldn't think _what_ could be causing this and didn't quite have the patience either—she hasn't eaten today yet or taken any medication. She hadn't pushed her powers a training limit either, she thinks as the girls by the sinks leave the restroom. In fact, she hardly used them and preferred not to. Her monthly red curse wasn't due for another couple of days, so...

But as the pain shoots through her again, she finds that going to the nurse was no longer an option but a necessity. Her hands press into her pelvic and a pained moan echoes the girls' restroom.

_Why was this happening?_

It isn't until Wanda finally yanks down her underwear does she see the cause of her pain. And she stares down at the fresh red soaking the wad of tissue she used in absolute dread. She almost lets out a string of curses.

RED

_'No,' _she screams in her head. _'No! This can't be happening. Not now!' _ She hadn't even brought protection.

_RED_

One thing about Wanda was that she preferred to alway be prepared

She would be the one who packed more than needed as a "just in case"

But this was an entirely different matter, of course,  
One every woman would want to be prepared for

_NO!_

She pumps the air once with a fist as panic seeps into her bones. And somewhere nearby in the bathroom stall, a girl shrieks, running out, followed by a loud crack and a sound of something like a hose spraying.

Using a _generous_ amount of toilet tissue, Wanda makes as a temporary substitute for a stationary before dashing out. Now, she only has a few minutes to make it to her locker and then run to class.

She steps over a stream of water coming from the other two stalls. She doesn't see that the other toilets had combusted from her powers.

Her locker—this was one of the things Wanda is grateful for in this contagion of a school, where the biggest obsession is to climb the social status. The status climbing is something her brother had become sucked into. Wanda, on the other hand, could care less.

But it was Troy Baxter who made all this wonderful. As one of the school's star basketball players, and all his blue eyed and sandy-haired glory, by some stroke of natural luck Wanda had gotten a locker practically _right next_ to his. They had even spoken of a few occasions—though it had been small talk, a borrowing of a pencil or praise about a previous ball game—and it gave her a small serge of courage every time to speak up more. In fact, a blush was starting to creep up her cheeks that very moment while in the hallway. Wanda pulls her one-size-too-large red jacket tighter round her frame. The a cramp returned then, this time a bit lower in her abdomen, but she pushes it aside as the blonde boy came into view, but standing with a few others against the wall.

As Wanda spins the combination lock, her fingers unconsciously reach to pull at her white skirt she had dared to wear today. Her heart races in her chest and she dares to peek over in his direction, and a smile spread across her face in what she felt would belong to a lunatic. She's so distracted that she doesn't notice at first that her locker isn't open. She tugs against it, expecting it to open when it doesn't.

She pauses. Wanda tugs—nothing. She tugs harder, two hands. Still nothing.

She groans slightly, inwardly screaming, her head tilting backward. _Could this happen at an even more embarrassing moment? _And then another cramp hits, this one feeling more like poking needles, and she winces. She redials the combination gain. Wanda is trying to calculate the likelihood if her locker opened, how long she would have to run to the nurse before the final bell rang—it isn't likely—but her train of thought falls off track catching a head of sandy blonde out the corner of an eye.

In a suddenly panicked frenzy, she spins her lock wildly, hoping, _praying_ that it would open this time because this is _embarrassing_and she'd much rather _die_. Dread sets in seeing the door still refusing to budge...and Troy and his friends are approaching his own locker not too far down. Wanda wants to cry, to run away, and she felt so darn _ridiculous_ coming to stand at her locker only to walk away like this.

She sends a death glare toward her locker. Her fist round the combination dial begins to buzz lightly, and she gives it a quick shake seeing it begin to glow. She has to take a steadying nasal inhale in an attempt to calm her nerves; she only jolts slightly at the deep voice. And at the water fountain behind, the stream of water curbs and soaks the pants of those standing near it.

"Locker jammed?" Troy had leaned over after pausing his trio of friends. He smiles in Wanda's direction from his own locker and when she turns, her words failing, he saw wide eyes under her hood and his smile became genuine.

Wanda gapes, not believing he was talking to _her_, and stutters a "y-yeah." She could swear that for a split second she could feel her brother's murderous glare burning holes into the both of them. Rolling her shoulders, it was instantly gone.

"Here," he steps beside her, offering to help.

Wanda still doesn't know exactly what to say and obliges silently. But when she uncurls her fingers the lock had already been undone. She stares in bewilderment—and annoyance too because _now_ it opens?

"Well," Troy shrugs. "Looks like you got it already." His words trail off at the end and it sounds almost despondent.

Wanda, on the other hand, was upset. No, she was beyond upset and _annoyed_—no, _more_ than that. She wants to throw the lock on the floor and stamp her feet in a tantrum and shout and curl into a ball.

She had been close, _so close_.

_She'd done it again_

In her fit, she jerks open her locker and crams all her needed school things in her bags in a failed attempt at calm. She did all but literally _stomp_ away grumbling words to express her anger at this missed opportunity, towards her locker, the gods, to herself.

_These damn powers_

When she gives a small stomp, a wall of locker down the opposite hall swing open, the booming of metal echoing down the hallways.

She hadn't gotten very far when she heard Troy's voice and slows her steps. She didn't dare turn around, and clutches her books to her chest tighter.

She could hear his tone, confused, and calls, "hey! Where's all my stuff?!" He's clearly angry and _very_ confused as he turns to one of the other boys at this side. "Is this some kind of _prank_? It's freaking _empty_!"

Wanda's blood ices over.

"_Who the hell did this!?_"

She quickens her pace, a panicked look in her eyes. She'd done it again.

**. . .**

The final late bell rings two minutes later as Wanda slides into her signed seat. Students chatting at the front of the room look impressed. While Wanda lets out a relieved groan, glad she hadn't causing any more craziness, she could have gone without the preserved animals in containers lining the classroom. A shiver runs across her skin.

It's second year science and as soon as the teacher walks in, Wanda pulls out her notebook and pencil because notes for the upcoming quiz is already being announced. She's relieved to have something else to preoccupy her time, having a focus on something less stressing rather than the anxiety about the lockers or Troy.

Her hood slides from her head as time goes by and her paper fills with written notes she wasn't sure she would understand by tomorrow.

The teacher also asks questions pertaining to the lesson. A pale blonde named Edwin answers many of the answers that would be in their homework. Wanda shifts uncomfortable in her seat to an unsettling wetness. She jolts as the sharp pain of another cramp hits. A surge of fear follows. She has to force herself to calm just as a paper plane the boy across the room throws, and it turn, and rams into his eye. The teacher doesn't excuse him to the nurse.

Wanda's head slides into her hands, her fingers finding her hair. The boy whines about his hurt eye. The teacher says it is his own fault.

Now, Wanda doesn't like attention, and tries to void it unless it's absolutely necessary. This is partially to hide her mutation, and this is partially because of the anxiety that eats at her insides and makes her afraid to even enter the cafeteria. Because of this, she never raises her hands in class either, and friends are nonexistent. There were a few she has conversed with, even with her arrogant, annoying _jerk_ of a brother has more secure friends than she thinks she ever will. Because of this, Wanda procrastinates getting the teacher's attention to ask to leave. But it is also partially due to the fact that she was afraid, and created exaggerated scenarios of being declined the request and having to sit throughout the class period as she bled out in a white skirt. However, when the clicking of shoes pauses near her desk and an, "are you feeling alright, Wanda?" told her the woman already knew.

Wanda slides upright and forces a smile on her face. "Yes, I'm fine." But she pauses. "But can I go to—-"

"Then I guess you wouldn't mind going up to answer the next question...?" The woman motions in the direction of the chalkboard.

"The question...?" Wanda mumbles, an icy feeling forming in the pit of her gut and setting in her veins.

She had gotten so immersed in her thoughts, that she hadn't realized that the class had begun to be called to the board to identify parts on the drawn diagrams. She swallows, her throat tightening. And as she stands, she could feel another cramp but does her best not to cringe. She could practically _feel_ all eyes on her as she reaches for the chalk with a shaky hand.

This was a good day to be wearing a white skirt, she regrets, even if her red jacket was oversized and covers her bum.

The question she was to solve was easy enough and she knew the parts to label, something she was sure to have seen before once in a textbook or heard during discussion... It was a question surely to be on the test...

_She had no__ clue what the answer was_

Sweat forms on the back of her neck. Wanda's free hand fists her skirt at her side. Her wide eyes run across the question written above in dusty white again and again, and for a moment her vision swims. She only calms catching her fingers beginning to glow again, and holds them to her chest. She knows all eyes were on her, and gaining a sudden serge of confidence, she let her hands write across the chalkboard seemingly on their own. Her heart drums a fast beat in her chest, the grip on her skirt loosens.

She doesn't notice the whisper and gasp from a girl in the front row behind her.

Wanda heaves a sigh when she finishes, and dusts off her palms. The teacher's heels click to stand beside her and Wanda made sure she would be able to see her fingers that are still slightly glowing.

"Oh...wow!"

Wanda tries to hold in her smile threatening to grow.

"That's right!" The woman appears shocked, looking between Wanda's answer and the notes in her manicured hand. This had been the most difficult one and hadn't expected it all to be correct.

Wanda allows more of her smile to show. However, it soon fades feeling warm moisture between her thighs, and panic set in again remembering she had to get to the school nurse. Shuffled, Wanda fidgets, hoping the woman would allow her to her seat already, but unfortunately she's more interested in Wanda's answer.

Wanda shuffles uncomfortably

But that is when she hears it, when she looks behind at that girl in the front cover her own mouth and gasp. And as the girl points, the rest of the class follows. Wanda could feel it as well, feel _why_ they were looking.

Wanda stood at the front of class, frozen in utter shock

She vaguely registers the warm, red wetness sliding down her thighs over the sheer terror freezing her to a standstill.

Her chest begins heaving rapidly as her emotions escalade to dangerous levels, but that too is something she barely registers. The more prominent issue is the squawking coming from out the windows at the back of the class. The teacher had forgotten the windows had been open to air out chemicals and the entire room _screams_ as a large bird crashes inside, the preserving jars shattering to the tile in the back of the room.

ODD

COINCIDENTAL

OUTRAGEOUS

Just the concealed usual here

_"What are the possibilities a bird could have flown in a building THIS low?!"_

Welcome to Sherbrooke High.

* * *

**_A/N: Let me know if this is okay or not._**


	14. Chapter 10: Late

It's a known fact that Mckenzie Shabotz is a well known and well-liked figure throughout the school; bred from a high earning and reputable background. And by well-_liked,_ meaning by most of the student male population, then that is most definitely true. But to the girls, however; the girls couldn't give a damn about her—most of them, that is. Mckenzie Shabotz is outspoken, quite spoiled, condescending, _popular_, and _desired_ by many. She is one of the top in the small section of the school's social status—and many of the girls could care less for her.

Sherry Addams is not one of them.

And as she leant against the brick wall, arms folded and watching the named brunette slides her palm _suggestively_ across the chest of one of the three boys around her, Sherry can't remember exactly when Mckenzie begun being this way. Thinking back, she has been a flirt for as far back as Sherry could remember, and Mckenzie's gum snapping only seems to heighten Sherry's ever-growing annoyance.

Mckenzie flips a bushel of her dark hair over a shoulder and Sherry rolls her eyes at hearing the girl's obviously flirtatious laughter echo. She's chewing gum and Sherry wants to gag. She was sure that whatever had been, it was not that funny.

Sherry isn't jealous—don't get that wrong—and Mckenzie hasn't done anything directly toward her to cause these hostile feelings. Not at all. Except blatantly flaunt her assets around guys for show and then pity other girls, specifically those who are single. Mckenzie would purposely call out passive aggressively. "Oh, that's a cute scarf, I'm surprised someone like _you_ could pull it off." Or, "I knew a girl who had freckles like yours. They were kinda pretty, I guess. She's dead now though. Oh, no, literally." And she would comment all the while dolling herself up in a compact mirror. Her high was making others envious, or she would surround herself by her crew who would act as hype and support, leaving no room for an honest comeback. Not to mention she had hooked up with a guy she _knew_ Sherry had really liked.

_Mckenzie would pucker her lips, testing the gloss_  
_and glance with a smirk at the other's reaction to her offensive comment_

Another reason Sherry absolutely _didn't_ _mind_ having the girl around was the way Mckenzie was so suggestive, regardless having a boyfriend at the time, or how her lipstick practically shouts "come f*ck with me." Oh, and don't be next to her in the locker room showers either, or she'll gladly make you the next "shower topic"

And not to mention Mckenzie's lengthy history of boys she's had wrapped around her finger or dated. Although the brunette is crafty enough to hide it to from the eyes of authorities, it's something that ticks at the strawberry blonde's nerves, of how Sherry _always_ gets caught and blamed for a misdemeanor. Sherry wasn't even sure the other's parents were _aware_ of Mckenzie's behavior at school.

None of this is exactly hidden

Word gets around this school quite quickly

As if knowing Sherry is watching, Mckenzie reached for the collar of the boy in front of her and lowers him down to bring his ear to her lips, speaking something low, and Sherry could have sworn that Mckenzie's eye flickered her way.

Sherry's fist tightens and she scowls.

Oh, and there's another thing: one of the reasons Mckenzie has acquired a secured place at the top of the pyramid is from being friends with the number one "queen" for years. And with this queen, her powers were even greater than Mckenzie's.

Sherry's friend then happens to come out of the girls bathroom, and seeming to pick up on the other's feelings, the friend walks over and asks. Sherry just rolls her eyes and lies that she's fine.

Yes, Mckenzie Shabotz is the eye and prime of almost every young boy in this school, and she knew it. The girl definitely uses that to her advantage too, and if you were to ask her about it, she'd only scoff at you. She was confident, proud, and shameless. Though this did cause most to shy away from her and admire from afar, there were those few who didn't. Mckenzie knew she was attractive, popular, and the cause of many a boy's restless nights, and she wore it out whenever she got the chance.

She also knew those she has to avoid in order to keep her status.

And Pietro was no exception.

In fact, just this morning he was victim of another night of Mckenzie's form invading his dreams, something he'd rather keep secret (but hadn't done so successfully with Ronny, who had walked in one day when he was out of school "sick"). And as he stretched and swung his legs over his bed earlier that morning, Pietro ran a hand through his bright hair, the mix of a scowl and a blush from the lingering dream on his cheeks when he glared down at his greeting boxers. He made sure to lock his basement door before anything else, and stumbled back over to his bed. The slight squeaking of springs under his weight seemed to echo the room.

He knew that Wanda would be on time to school once again instead of him this morning, and frankly, he didn't quite care.

Pietro reached over his side drawer, pausing only to listen for footsteps upstairs. He willed the dream to return to his mind and drew in a slow breath, readying himself. He knew that he was going to be making it close to the bell at school by this point..._if_ he even decided to go to school today...

Pietro shivers, a low moan drifting from his lips at the task and of the girl of his fantasies playing out in his mind. His hand is a blur and his back gives a little arch above his bed.

That had been early that morning, and now in the hallway, infactuation is still evident by the way his cheek presses on the cool metal and his other arm hung over the door of his locker, mouth slightly hanging as he watches the girl of his dreams without her even knowing. He also knew the look Meisha would have given if she were here. He watches the girl of his fantasies with a look of obvious longing and desire.

Pietro Maximoff was completely infatuated with Mckenzie Shabotz

Beside him, Ronny is a frazzled mess of anxiety. "...I'm tellin' you, h-h-he'd blow a gasket. He'll turn red as a tomato again and that would be the end of me. I think the divorce is really going to happen, man. I'm—-" Ronny stops talking when noticing the other was no longer paying attention, and slams his own locker to get his attention.

Pietro jumpes, shuffles, buries a fist in a pocket.

"You weren't even listening," Ronny frowns voice dragging out in his usual, slightly-defeated drawl. "I'm explaining my mid-life crisis here and you're over there drooling over _Mckenzie_ _again_!"

"Uh, no! I was listening!" Pietro closes his locker—he doesn't even use it anyways; why was it open?—and figets with the embrodery on his jacket. "Besides, aren't you a little too young to be having a _mid-life crisis_?" he asks smartly. "I thought that is just what old guys have when they realize they have no future." He looks Ronny up and down for emphasis. "You don't have a cheating wife," the speedster began counting off on his fingers. He knew that this was going to tick off the other and continues regardless. "Two, you're too good to do drugs, and you don't have to worry about an inheritance." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice but it was gone when he held up a fourth finger. "And you definitely don't look like you're working in a miserable office job."

"You've been watching too many of those shows." One of Ronny's brows rise, knowing the other's growing habit of tuning in to soap operas as a form to waste time. "And since you were listening to what I was _saying_, what was I talking about then?"

Pietro's jaw hangs slightly again. _'Damn.'_ He stalls, rolling his eyes. Just as he took one final glance at Mckenzie flirting in the diatance, the bell rings. Pietro turns back with a smirk at a frowning Ronny—but then again, he was almost always frowning.

"Well, catch you later, Ron!" The shorter salutes, spinning on his heels before the other could say otherwise.

The mutant stares after the other with his usual puppy-dog glare, watching Pietro leave before throwing his hands in the air. While Ronny would slide into his assigned seat next to a familiar redhead, Pietro would stride over to where Mckenzie was waving in a goodbye and clears his throat to get her attention.

"Hey 'Kenzie, what's up?" A large, goofy smile splits across his face.

The girl glances in his direction and rolls her eyes and starts walking away until Pietro steps into her path.

Mckenzie's look is cutting and she frowns. This isn't the first time the speedster has come up to her abd she hoped that he had taken the hint last time. "And _what_ do _you_ want?"

"Well first to say hello. Hi. And second, to know if i could have your autograph right here." He points to his heart. "Because you're printed across my heart, babe."

She sneers, an aggressivs smile. "Cute."

He begins pulling down the neck of his shirt to emphasis, and to purposely show off his toned neck. "And I can have here," he then lifts the bottom of his shirt, exposing a bit of skin above his belt, "_'property of your name_' if you're down for that, doll?" And he bits his lip.

Mckenzie stares at him for a moment, bewildered and disgusted, before pushing past. "_Move_, out my way. I have to get to class."

"Yeah and that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about!" He slides into her path again.

And once more, the girl pauses. She raised a brow, unamused. She's obviously fumming. "You're that kid in history class, aren't you...? The one who—-"

"Yes yes, that was me." His arms raise and slap down to his sides. "Yes I am. Now, listen, sweets?"

"Like _you_ actually have anything good to say to _me, geek_?"

Pietro's brows arch. "Yeah actually." He smirks smugly. "You know, since it's coming up to Spirit Week..." He leans in the direction of her ear but keeps a distance. "How's say you, me..." His voice lowers into a whisper suggestively.

Mckenzie's eyes widen before barking out a flat laugh. "And _why' would I_?" She is steadily walking with Pietro trying to step in front of her and she sidesteps him each time.

"Because you're hot, I'm hot. Why not?"

"Haha! No." She veers around him again and he has to spin on his heels, still wearing the same cheeky grin.

"'Kay. So what's a guy gotta do to get your hot little ass to pay attention then?" The look in his eyes underlines that statement to be far less innocent than it sounds.

At that, the girl stops abruptly. She then glares up at him in what she hopes portrayed her disgust to his smug stare.

She's come across this weird one before, and yet, this time around he seems more determined and she's puzzled, not used to someone being this persistent and _annoying_.

Then without givingban answer, Mckenzie shoulders him aside.

By this point, the girl has already been battling the other to get to the classroom door, with him constantly stepping in front of her face, until she finally has to physically push him aside because he had been standing in front of her _again_. And right as she moves past and opened the door, the final bell rings, signalling to all who were not in class are now tardy. Mckenzie rushes inside, dreading next class already.

Now, Mr. Knight is one of the stricter instructors, one who would stand at the classroom door to make sure he _personally_ sees each student that walks through. And as soon as he leaves his post, he makes remarks about the late ones and mocks their excuses in front of the entire class.

This is what Mckenzie is already dreading as she opens the door. And this is _exactly_ what happens when she gets inside and sees Mr. Knight at his desk, glancing up from just finishing attendance, and thin mustache twitching. "Well, well, Miss Shabotz. Tardy." The balding man then does a double-take, catching the head of grey slinking inside behind her. "Maximoff! Late once again," his voice turns stony, making Pietro freeze. "And I see you dragged Miss Shabotz with you..." The older man moved his gaze appointedly, and tisks.

Mckenzie is frozen in fear, yellow-painted fingers grasping at the strap of her bag. All the air and charisma she usually wore had flown out the window as she addresses the teacher. "M-Mr. Knight...I'm—-"

Pietro's eyes dart to her and he then slides closer to her side, and tries to hold back the smirk on his lips. "Hey Mr. K," he casually holds up a hand in innocence. "Sorry we're late, I was just, uh, helping Miss Mckenzie here because she was complaining that her ankle was hurting, you know. And me being the gentleman I and all, I was offering to carry this poor thing to class when she oh-so-ungratefully punched me." Throughout his little speech, he shamelessly makes sad and hurtful expressions to accompany his words.

The rest of the classroom is quiet. The teacher was, still even, ceremoniously fiddling with his pen.

The look Mckenzie wants to give the speedster would have clearly spoke her spite and disapproval._ 'You must have _a lot_ of balls,'_ she thinks.

Mr. Knight, as well as a umber of faculty, know for a fact that this boy tends to exaggerate. But given the look on Mckenzie Shabotz's face, he couldn't determine whether this what he is speaking is another lie, or if it is not.

"And a shame too," Pietro continues, and Mckenzie shoots him a distasteful look. "Because the bell rang and I was _just _about to ask if she would be my partner for Spirit week. We—-"

"Save it, Maximoff! You know the policy for tardies: detention. Both of you." Creases become visible on his face.

Mckenzie falters. She couldn't have detention! Not today! She was to see her current boyfriend, Jackson for the first time after a year after he returns from his first year in college, and then afterwards they were supposed to go back to his place...

Pietro's eyes unfocused and he sighs loudly. He lowers, bending over his knees, and winces.

Many of the students had turned back to their textbooks or murmuring among themselves, mind their own business. No one wants to make eye contact with any of the three speaking.

"You know what, I actually don't feel quite well..." Pietro's fist rose to his mouth and he appears to dry heave. "I don't think I'll make it to detention. I think I may have a stomachache-flu. It's probably food poisoning. That lunch did look questionable."

Knight looks the student up and down for a moment. "Ok then. You can serve it _tomorrow_, or the day after."

Pietro's chuckle is too low for anyone to hear. He forces his voice to remain unsteady. "You know, never mind. I'm actually starting to feel better... Must've just been something quick." He gives a slight burp, straightening his back slowly. "I think it might have to go to the nurse later though."

Mckenzie's eyes remain on the other teen, but her look had changed. She watches at the other as he stands slowly, her wearing one that is no longer with an disinterested, but is _slightly_ impressed. It was a second quick and fleeting flash in her eyes.

And the mutant saw it too.

Knight sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he orders the two to take their assigned seats. And Pietro doesn't miss the way Mckenzie flips her hair or the looks when she turns to someone she knew and her eyes give an appointed glance behind at him. Or, maybe that was just his imagination again. Either way, Pietro feels a serge of new confidence that day, and he breaths a relying breath. Even when he walks past his friends in the hall, he would be so caught up in his proud self that as he leans on the wall beside Meisha, he doesn't see the end of her braid dart out for his throat in surprise, as if a knife, for a split second before she catches herself and forced it limp again. Later that day, Ronny would only roll his eyes at the speedster and continue walking to his next destination.

Ronny will walk past a classroom where a girl with brown hair sits near the front reading a book. She doesn't speak to anyone she didn't know and her hair is bleached to a blonde-like color toward the back tips. She will later meet up with a strawberry blonde who she will leave with at the end of the day, and while waiting for their ride, will stand beside a silent brunette wearing a red jacket pulled over her head. This girl wouldn't tell of the inner struggle she deals with with being different, of how she despises herself secretly, increasing each time she makes another mistake with her power. This one will unintentionally overhear a conversation of a popular blonde, this blonde unknowing she is more different than she thinks. This blonde had stolen the once-best friend of a student, turning both into enemies. One of them which a gray-haired mutant is infatuated with—infatuated with a girl who has already given herself away many times over, taking hearts like a fashion statement, and unknowing that another he knows already harbors worries and emotions.

One of these young adults has the power to affect the lives of an entire town, and another has already conquered the entire school. One will inspire another all the way in another city which will inspire a breakthrough, while yet another has the ability to change the course of history. One _will_ change history, and another will not live to see graduation. Now, it is left to see how this will pan out and who it will be. There are four years to live through total, and the jumps into the middle; to find who one's self really is, and who are those that will try to bring others down, or to support in the elimination of an entire people.

There are four years they must attempt to live through, and here, it isn't so easy when you are _different_. Take it from a girl who despises herself, knowing the close possibility that her power can overtake her, the boy who struggles with the simple things of everyday living to just _keep_ _up_, and the girl with issues from just the color of her skin.

Four years. Just four years they will attempt to live through.

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**_The serious lack of reviews have been making me not want to write this as much a I had been. But thanks to chyanne200, Cyanide Siren, and that lovely guest, I struggled to pump out this chapter. So this is for you. :)_**

**_I'm serious when I say that every review is appreciated, hate, praise, whatever, people just tell me if I'm doing good!_**


	15. Chapter 11: Parents Disturbed

Ronny frowns down at the food on the porcelain dinner plate. The last time he had seen this dish had been by an impostor on his school lunch tray, and since then, he has been turned _off_ from mashed potatoes. But of course, he wouldn't—couldn't tell his mother that. These _real mashed _potatoes, hot and pipping fresh, served with steaming gravy, salt, and pepper were not why he had been staring down at his untouched dinner for until it is as cold as his fingertips. As he remains quiet, literally biting his tongue, as he indirectly paid listened to the hollers and yells drifting from his parents' bedroom. No, he intentionally listened. Ronny spaces out, gaze caught by the remnants of steam leaving his food and he didn't _dare_ look up until he hears his parents again. Ronny also did not want to catch his father's eye and receive the bad end of his anger. So, he kept his hands squeezed together under the table at the voices that only increased due to the hall's echoing.

"For the love of _Christ_, Janet! When will you get through your thick skull already, woman? Do you _hear_ yourself?!"

"Do you hear _yourself_?! All you do is nag, nag, and _you_ _never_ keep your word!" his mother howls back.

This isn't a bad fight. No, this is merely a disagreement, a clean argument compared to the nasty ones that have happened before, when Ronny would wake in the middle of the night from something smashing and followed by screaming. But still, he always feels uncomfortable whenever his parents came to a disagreement. He felt uncomfortable because the either road it could lead down.

Ronny Di Gallo is only at the prime age of sixteen and he still remembers the days when all he wanted was to grow to be a man similar to his strong father, when he was younger and didn't know any better. But now, the arguing has increased just as many things were coming into focus—just like how Ronny finally connected the dots about the untouched convertible that sits in the garage, the one his father goes out and waxed twice a week and drives once in a blue moon; Ronny understands now that it is _much_ more than just a prize car won. He saw it, and his mother had always seen it the moment her husband drove it home with the largest smile Ronny had ever seen him wear in his life.

But the car had only been the beginning of the iceberg.

Ronny knows that he is kind of an awkward kid; he knows that he needs a little extra boost sometimes, to opposed most others his age. He is shy, cautious, and always a little paranoid with a _strictly good_ moral compass; "herb," Peter would call him, even though the speedster is inches shorter. But Ronny doesn't mind, Ronny didn't care; as long as he continues to be able to come back home, make good grades, and keep his mutation under wraps, he's good. Sure he would complain at times, but he was good.

He remains absolutely silent in his dinner seat, feeling the lump worsening in his throat as his parents' voices rise and their words grew uglier.

Ronny is the only one in his immediate family to possess a mutant ability. The first time it happened had terrified him so, and he had gone into shock and rushed to the hospital. Even there he had lied as told that he must have been dehydrated, even with the knowing look the lady nurse had gave. But he had been released with only a receipt. Never had there been any secrets between him and his parents before and it had been as if he could trust them with anything—at least his mother—but now, he felt weird about it. He wasn't even sure if he could trust them with his life just as any son should be able to. And every time he feels his skin begin to warm and crawl at the start of his powers and his parents are near, that familiar icy panic returns and the feeling of absolute doom seeps into his veins and destroys his voice.

The pain worsens in Ronny's throat but he swallows it down hearing his parents suddenly calm and his mother's shoes padding back across the carpet. He listens to her sit in her chair and doesn't look up until he hears his father do the same and his fork scraping across the plate.

Ronny takes a quick glance at his hands resting in his lap under the table, making sure they were still visible. To his relief, they were.

"Reynold..."

He almost jumps.

"You aren't hungry?" His mother is concerned—of course. The fizzling anger was still detectable in her tone, however.

Ronny swallows, forcing a steady grin. "I'm fine."

He knows that he has become the somewhat son his parents have always wished for; that those many times his father had oozed over his high school trophies from the past, trying to convince his son to follow in his steps and hoping it would rub off, of the many times Ronny's mother had spoken about girls and the possibility of getting a girlfriend. Ronny knew that they were sending him subliminal messages and signals. But the problem with it all is that he _doesn't_ want to join a sport and that he _doesn't_ want a girlfriend—at least, not from the options given at his school, he likes to tell himself. Ronny just wants to graduate high school, find a cure for this retched curse of a mutation, and to hopefully be able to hug his mother without fearing he would completely blend in with her blouse.

At the dinner table, he prays that his voice doesn't shake, but after catching a side glance from his father as he spoke, he knows that he had failed.

Ronny's mother stares at him a bit longer before turning back to her plate of cold food. Both of his parents were too proud and lazy to go and reheat their plates, chasing instead to spite the other with each's presence.

Ronny sighs, guessing that the rest of dinner would again be very, very quiet.

The house has indeed become quieter over the years as well, up to the point that Ronny would either stay in his room or at his friends' house just to avoid overhearing yet another fight. In fact, the thought of Ms. Maximoff's house sounds like a rather _good __suggestion_ in this moment. The woman was always kind whenever he came over, and Ronny was honestly a bit jealous at Pietro and Wanda for that.

Their mother had been the first adult to be understanding and not fearful of his abilities the day she walked in seeing a floating pair of clothes sitting on her couch. Ms. Maximoff was the only person to have ever _witnessed _Ronny freely use his abilities—besides his friends, of course.

The thought of being in that warm house is beginning to sound better with each passing minutes rather than sitting through the minefield here at his own home. The tension here is so thick that it could be another presence on its own. Ronny clears his throat in hopes to lift the air, but it doesn't help that his parents refuse to make eye contact with one other—

"Eat your food, honey."

—except with him.

Ronny breaths, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm not very hungry actually..." He can feel his skin beginning to crawl in that familiar sensation when he begins to blend in with his surroundings, and he knows that he has to get out of here _fast_. His fork clangs against the plate and he hurriedly pushes his chair back. "I'm really tired, a-and-and-and I had already ate at—-"

"Stay seated. Where're you going?"

Ronny freezes at his father's voice.

"You haven't eaten," the man explains.

Ronny glances at his half-eaten store-bought salisbury steak and a moment of hesitation follows. "I-I don't feel well. And I already have a lot of homework to do, and I ate before, so..."

His father lifts his chin toward his son, and he's still chewing. "You can do that homework later. Sit down." Ronny can hear his father straining to sound leveled. "How's those friend of yours doing? That odd, fast-talking one and the girl with the ridiculously long hair?" Ronny's mother is looking up now as well, and then his father states, "she's pretty. How's she?" His father doesn't break eye contact the entire time.

From being in the military, some of that strict and harsh mentality and mannerism reemerges periodically. Whenever he is truly overbearing, it just fueled the fire to whatever scenario is currently going on. Such as now.

Ronny pokes his tongue in his cheek. His hands are already sweating and he wants to leave.

His mother raises a hand to rest under her chin on. "What I'm still wondering is, why would you go and eat so close to dinnertime when you know I would have a meal made for you? Why couldn't you just tell me that you didn't want to eat this dinner and I didn't have to go out of my way so much tonight?"

"Well maybe he had actually _important_ _things_ he was busy with," his father mumbles.

The death glare his mother sends in reply is not overlooked.

Ronny glances to the cupboard where the china is kept, collecting dust and cobwebs. He can see the fading reflection of his hands in the glass of the cupboard and shoves them in his pockets. He swallows. "W-well, I—-"

His father's voice turns harsh. "Sit down."

"Stop, Riccardo!" His mother holds out her hand to her son and then turns toward her husband, finally speaking to him directly. "He said he didn't feel well." She eyes the man across from her, and the tension only seeming to escalade when his met hers.

While it is quite normal for Ronny to be shuffled between his parents during one of their feuds, it has been growing worse just as the volume during their feuds.

"Janet, you don't just let the boy that easily—-"

"_Don't_ you tell me what to do!" she snarls, pointing the end of her fork to her husband's direction.

Ronny swallows. His eyes flicker back and forth, watching the two's fighting resume. He fidgets on his feet, not knowing what to do.

His mother then turns to Ronny. "Go to your room, honey," she forces her tone soft for him, but is not very successful.

"I..."

"No! Stay right—-!" His father orders.

"I SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

Ronny backs before turning and rushing to disappear into the confinements of his bedroom. He's sweating and locks the door just in time, he hears, full-blown shouting sounding from the dinning room down the carpeted hallway. As he pulls off his shirt—the sweating another warning just before his powers activate—he turns to the mirror on the back of his door and pauses. All he sees are his jeans. No body; just pants. He raises a hand to his short hair, and sees an appendage rise that is the same pattern as his curtain behind him.

Ronny grabs at his chest—lean and pale, and he can faintly outline his ribs when he sucks his stomach in—and he tries to calm his racing heart. Ronny swallows thickly, closes his eyes, and sighs in relief. He made it here to hide just in time.

Outside, something—the table?—scraps across the carpet violently. He can hear his mother hiss about something, and then his father retaliate in a response.

Ronny unbuckles his pants, pausing at hearing his stomach gurgle and noticing his skin slowly fading back into view.

Obviously, he has lied to his parents about being hungry, and even worse, it wasn't the first time he had. That is one of the things he feels bad about. Before, he could have spoken to them both about almost anything. And then that car was brought home, and their heated argument grew worse yet...

A lot can happen in a few short years.

For some reason, Ronny catches sight of a picture frame on his dresser. It is one his mother must have left purposely, because he thought this one hd been on the bookshelf just last week. The photograph, a bit worn and misused, is of his mother squatting and squeezing him in her arms in a hug. Both are smiling. Ronny thinks that he must have been around five years old at the time.

He sighs. He would have to return it to her tomorrow.

He shimmies out of his jeans, still trying to calm his own breathing, and crawls under the blanket, still a faded figure in a pair of boxers.

"Stop trying to make it seem like _you_ have it worse than _I_ do!" Ronny could hear his mother's matching anger.

"I have to spend _all day_ hearing and dealing about those _freaks_! I don't need to come home to this!"

Ronny knows that those _freaks_ are mutants, and he has never dared to correct his father.

His mother then screams something, and all Ronny could pick up was "well none of those freaks are here!"

He pulls his blanket to his chin, his eyes staring wide at the ceiling. He will remember to get up and turn on his ceiling fan, eventually.

Usually their fights can last for _hours_, days even if they are too stubborn and angry at the subject. So when the noise outside continues, Ronny isn't very moved—until the splitting sound of something breaking before his parents' voices fad to what he supposes is in the direction to their shared bedroom.

Even when the house is finally quiet, it takes Ronny several more hours to finally fall asleep that night.

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**_A/N: Hirakohs, Cyanide Siren, chyanne200, Transfan1623, nameless, and _oh my god_ Lyra, thank you so, so much for the reviews! _****_Omg people actually like this!? _****_I am still so shocked! And I will always thank my reviewers, of course :) You all are quite literally the only thing that makes this continue. Ilysm!_**

**_I looked back over last chapter and did my best to correct anything that may have made it unclear. If I missed anything, please tell me._**

**_I apologize for getting you all confused wh__en the timeline. I don't know if I said this earlier, but the chapters that say 'Chapter #: [title here]' are in the right order and I'm going to go back and number all the ones that aren't when this is over. And the line breaks are the only time break-thing I will use unless stated otherwise__—which I don't think will happen._**

**_I like to imagine Ronny's face claim as a young Alan Ruck, Mckenzie as a young Phoebe Cates, and Meisha as the teenager Christina Ricci. Good face claims or bad?_**


	16. Chapter 12: Insignificant Facts

**_A/N: The other OCs (Meisha, Ronny, Mckenzie ) are here for a reason. They're stories will come back and have they have importance as well, beside just Rainy._**

* * *

Meisha glowers into the mirror, loathing, for what feels like the hundreth time. She's standing shirtless in the Maximoffs' bathroom, frowning at her reflection while her two friends are enjoying themselves outside, and the painful knot in her chest tightening.

Well, one a friend, and one she wants to consider more...

She had come over with Ronny, expecting to have a good time, but instead, is here with her shirt in her hands, still soaked with water from trying to wash out the spill, and her eyes beginning to sting at the start of tears.

In the mirror, all she sees is abhorrence, revolt, and misery. Meisha can hear the other two, Pietro declaring loudly, happily, and Ronny replying with an overreacting comment. She knows that she should be out there, laughing and enjoying herself alongside them, but all she can do right now is glare at the trail of lights freckles across her chest that her small white bra couldn't hide.

Outside the small bathroom, Ronny is sitting on the living room sofa reading aloud trivia he then orders the speedster to not cheat on, a command Meisha knew Pietro isn't going to listen to. And by the sounds of Ronny outside, he is realizing that as well.

Meisha's eyes sting.

It always seems to end up this way anyhow

Her moods would fluctuate; one minute she would be joking along, and then the next, her stomach would knot and her chest would flutter. Sometimes she would have to excuse herself. This is something she knew her mother would smooth her hands through her daughter's hair and speak calmly to bring her emotions back down. But that isn't the problem, Meisha found out not too long ago. In fact, she's been considering to put space between herself and the two boys out in the living room.

Pietro—Peter. All trouble seemed to start whit him, Meisha thinks. Just the thought of his name made her suspiciously uncomfortable. The reason why is something that took the girl some many months to figure out why. And when she did, at first, she didn't like it—she didn't even like him the first time they met—she didn't want it, but as time went by, she eventually came to a decision. A peaceful one rather than the more vile choice that had plagued her.

Ever since her mutation came in, Meisha has had to battle the..._second voice_ in her head, if you will

Something that has been seeming to worsen as she matures and as her hair grew

But that will be picked up on later

The young mutant turns to the wooden door of the small bathroom, catching the end of her braid slowly rise to nuzzle her heated face. She slips on her still-damp cream shirt and wipes her face dry, feeling her heart racing but choosing to ignore it. Drawing in an unsteady breath, she begins stroking her long braid that hangs over her shoulder like a long red python.

**. . .**

Ronny is the first to ask when she returns. "What took you so long?" He had swallowed his food before speaking.

"What's it to you?" It is more of a statement than a question, and she takes the empty space beside him on the sofa.

He sees her braid twitch slightly behind and asks, "well are _you_ _okay_?"

Pietro's eyes catches hers before darting back to Ronny, cheeks full with burrito.

"When did you go get burritos?" She looks to Pietro.

"You took too long," he explains, and then takes another bite.

"You're acting like it's _my_ fault... Well if it wasn't for _you_, I wouldn't have this big spot on my shirt!" She points at the obvious damp spot on her shirt that he caused.

"You still love me."

No one registers the blush that floods her cheeks then as her finger lowers and words escape her. She freezes, watching him smile to himself. Even though he only meant it in a joking manner, Pietro is unaware of how much damage he causes her. Because sometimes—most times, Meisha reads too far into dialogue and jesters.

Ronny waves his hand a bit to get her attention. He swallows the food in his mouth. "Got these literally, like, two minutes ago," he answers the question the other boy ignored.

Meisha hears, looks to him, but just doesn't respond. When she glances back at the speedster and sees that he is now suddenly half finished with yet another fat burrito. He and Ronny are the only other ones occupying the living room, Wanda and her younger sister somewhere else inside. Pietro has his feet propped up in the recliner chair that he had repositioned across from the sofa.

Meisha glances to the television, drumming on her knees. The television is either on mute or the volume is turned down low.

"Hey, we're almost halfway through with the trivia." Ronny waves a collection of cards in front of her. "You gonna keep playing or—-_Hey,_ give those back!"

Pietro leans back in the recliner chair, thumbing through the trivia questionnaires and pulling away overtime Ronny reaches forward. Meisha sees that yet _another_ aluminum foil burrito wrapper had been added to the small pile on the coffee table. The faster mutant picks a card at random and holds it above his head, out of reach.

"True or False: a collective noun for a group of moles is a called a labour..._huh_?" He lowers the card to see clouds gathering outside the window behind his two friends. It was nearing sunset.

Meisha takes advantage of his second of silence to ask, pointing to the pile of wrappers, "where's mine."

As Pietro readjusts himself in the cushions, ready to playfully lie that there wasn't food for her, Ronny makes a dive for the bag near the foot of the recliner. It was a rare feat for anyone to come out success from stealing from the speedier one, so Ronny couldn't help his outcry of triumph and holding the greasy bag in the air. Pietro rolls his eyes.

He digs out one of the last two burritos remaining and hands one to her, ignoring Pietro's death glare.

She smiles smugly, and leans back, getting comfortable. Pietro returns to flipping through the cards when Meisha resumes the game. "Question," she orders.

Ronny grins, leaning back in the couch. "Yeah, Pete. Since _you_ have the cards, _you_ ask the questions."

If his glare hadn't been harsh enough, it definitely is now. Since asking questions would mean staying seated and _waiting_ for the right answer, Pietro always tried to avoid being in that position. Plus, he couldn't go looking for the answers himself this way.

"I hate you both," he growls.

Meisha giggles as he's handed the rest of the deck of cards and shuffles them.

"Ok... What's sc...sc...what is _sciophobia_ the fear of?" His nose wrinkles.

Ronny shares an implying suspicious glance with Meisha. Both are going to _purposely_ act as if they didn't know answers to drag out the time, a sort of payback.

This has been the typical day between the three. When they'e not running from the the _higher-ups_ at school or being an accomplice to one of Pietro's heists, it was quite calming times. When they weren't struggling to keep their powers from the public, they were quite normal teenagers.

"Okay. How many triangles do you see here?" Pietro holds up a card, showing a black and white diagram of two dimensional triangle made out of many smaller triangles.

Meisha's braid rose, the lose hairs at the end of the ponytail wrapper separating to form the number five, just as a hand would. She then changed it. "Wait, wait! Um...six...no, eight!" She began counting the shapes, her braid pointing at the card in the same form as a human hand.

Ronny snickers and Pietro's glare is redirected towards him.

All they want is to be normal and to be accepted without hostility. But in this world, anything too different is not acceptable and taboo. After all, who would accept a girl who could manipulate her hair to work in the same way as a hand or a knife? Or a boy who can move nearly as fast as the speed of sound? Or another who could practically turn invisible? Certainly not many. It would only turn into another pitchfork crowd, another witch burning—or int his case, mutant-burning. But of course, this all isn't something they all take into consideration every day because there are, luckily, way they have been able to hide their mutations and differences.

The trivia questions continues until Pietro's youngest sister wonders in the room and Ronny's attention turns to the darkening skies through the window behind him.

"Hey, it's raining!" the child exclaims.

Meisha grumbles something about how they were supposed to be back home before the rain came. There had been a forewarning forecast all this week and she had promised her parents too. Outside, Meisha is composed and patient about the situation, but inside she's screaming—if it wasn't for this darn weather, she could have had more time with him, become trapped due to the rain, and maybe even advance past friendship now. Her cheeks begin heating at the thought, something Pietro still didn't catch as he shoos his sister back to her room, but Ronny definitely had seen.

He leans down to whisper, "are you okay?"

And Meisha hisses, "Yes, I'm _fine_!"

Pietro returns in a flash, blurting, "what are you two mumbling about now?" He's eating an ice push-pop, feet propped back up in the recliner.

"Nothing, nothing..." Ronny muses.

Meisha squeezes her hands between her knees, not looking either in the eye. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you know you two have been whispering together a lot lately..." He squints.

Ronny pocks the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "What? No we haven't!"

Pietro's face then falls dramatically. "Oh _no_... Don't go on and fuck us up with some _'falling for your friend'_ crap!" he whines, becoming visibly annoyed. "That's not right. Nothing's supposed to break us up! You can't go and betray me like that! That's some big time, messed up betrayal shit, man!" He then began rambling off, the speed of his speech becoming difficult to follow.

Ronny waves his arms in distress and bringing the other to stop. "No, _no_! We don't like each other! Right, Meisha?!"

She nods exasperatedly, her eyes large and innocent. But of course, Pietro still frowns.

Ronny had hoped she would have given a noise of disgust, but that was just as good.

Only after a staring at the two for a minute longer did the speedster finally, visibly relax.

"I can't believe you..." Meisha shakes her head at the gray-haired one. Her hands rest on her hips; her light brown eyes wonder toward the direction of the front door. "I need to be home instead of it raining here."

"Why?"

"Because she's gotta be back home to her _mommy_ so she can do literally everything because she's the most ill' daughter!" His words ooze with bitter sarcasm. When Meisha began to protest, Pietro pressed, "she gonna call you again tonight, Ronny?" He leans in, holding his thumb to his ear and pinkie finger to his mouth, imitating a girl on the telephone as he spoke. "She'll call Ronny and gossip about boys all night long again?" And then Pietro smirks, and falls backwards in his reclining chair. He drills his index fingers into his cheeks and plasters a pasty smile on his face to further the taunt. He purposely speaks childishly to piss her off, throwing Ronny in the mix. "Oh, don't forget to make plans for what days you will be wearing frilly skirts and makeup. Because, you know, _what else_ are you gonna do? 'Cause you don't want to have any _girl_ friends."

Her eyes narrow. "You're an asshole."

"Yeah? I don't see _you_ doing anything about it," he irks. "Don't like the truth?"

"Hey! At least, I _have_ someone to call me at night!" Ronny blurts.

There's silence. Pietro and Meisha just stare.

The trio is interrupted again as Wanda walks into the living room, asking where their youngest sister is located. And when her twin just shrugs, she changes the subjects and orders him to go out and _buy _a chicken dinner this time with the money Marya left for them, she reminds him. And as he rolls his eyes, mocking her too in a high pitch, she dives and steals the last burrito from the bag on the coffee table. She throws his taunts back with by mocking his speed. She bends over, leaning closer to his face, and takes a large bite from the burrito before walking away with twist in her hips.

Pietro examines the inside of the paper bag. "How did she even know there was one left...?!"

The room returns to quiet once more until Wanda returns, brown head peeking from around the corner. "Oh, and Marya said no excuses even if it rains today." And then she was gone, calling down the hallway for her little sister.

Pietro lets out an exaggerated sigh.

Ronny, who had been gazing outside, slowly turns forward. "You know, speaking of _rain_...how's that _thing_ going on with Rainy-Juliet, huh?" His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he tries to hold in his smug smile.

Pietro, for once, takes a moment to answer. He sits still, his eyes only moving to Ronny's direction.

"What thing?" Meisha asks.

"_That_ thing..." The knowing, smug look grows on Ronny's face and he was now smiling quite wide.

"It's fine," Pietro speaks slowly. "Talked to her a couple times. She said to get lost and never speak to her again."

_Typical, _they all thought

"And have you done that?" Meisha puckers her lips a little.

"Of course not!" Pietro's lips start to curl at the edges. "Yeah, we share English class together, but I've been trying to wave at her for the past couple days to say something before class but..."

"You're going to get yourself hit in the face."

"Why do you keep wanting to talk to her after she said _get lost_?"

Pietro pauses, legitimately thinking it over. "...I...don't know... ...Why not?"

"And Mckenzie—-?"

Now, a large smile appears. "I think I might have won this bet halfway already! Got her to agree to be my date on Spirit Week."

"Really?" Meisha is not convinced. "What did she say?"

Pietro freezes for a millisecond as he thought. "Well, she didn't—-she didn't say _no_...!"

"Peter, that's not a date."

"That's not the point!"

Ronny is pretty shocked so he hadn't spoken. He was still on the fact that _somehow_ Mckenzie Shabotz, one of the _most popular girls_ at their school had _someway_ agreed to hang around a weirdo, a _geek_, as they were labeled, for an entire _week_. He was losing this bet...

"By the way~" Pietro drags out slowly, enjoying the realization of his nearing victory. "Juliet's supposed to be back at the school with some other girl again setting up for Spirit Week or whatever, I think."

Meisha's brows crease. "How could you _possibly_ know that?"

He smiles wickedly. "Don't worry about it," he winks. "Just know," he points to Ronny, "to have my money when me and Mckenzie walk in on Spirit Week!"

Ronny throws his hands up. "Hold on! No, the bet was for both Mckenzie _and_ Rainy, remember? You gotta keep talking to Rainy until Spirit Week. At least three days a week...unless you _forfeit_, Maxi-sore loser?"

"_Never_! Not for forty bucks!"

"And I'm going to be generous and give you leeway and change it to being until the _end_ of Spirit Week for you."

Pietro's smile is devilish, shark-like. "Fifty bucks."

"What!?"

"Fifty-five bucks! ...Or are you chicken...?"

"No!" Ronny sucks his teeth. "Deal!"

The boys clap hands together with an echoing smack, in a similar position to an arm wrestle. And then for good measure, began to arm wrestle across the coffee table—"_without_ powers!"

The evening soon returns to waiting out the rain. Meisha phoned her parents, apologizing about not making it before the rain. Pietro offered to walk her home but she turned him down, explaining that her parents would rather her stay dry. A few more trivia cards were pulled, and Pietro _still_ cheated. Wanda came and left, retreating a box of cookies from the kitchen for she and her sister to share. Ronny flips through the television channels. Meisha sits quietly on the couch with her hands clasped together over her knees. She neither moves nor speaks for the rest of the evening. No one asks why because no one seems to notice how she sat absolutely _still_ through the next hour. No one asks because no one had cares enough, she convinces herself.

* * *

Her second mutation surfaced when she was thirteen. At first, she thought that it was some sort of _trick of the mind_ that her hair felt particularly stiff whenever thinking about a hammer or slicing or when she was _angry_. And for the longest time, she kept telling herself that it was _impossible_ to get a paper cut from strands of hair. Well, the day she was proved wrong in the school's girls restroom years ago was also the day it seemed that _voice_ awoke.

And as Meisha sat in front of her bedroom mirror, tears running down her face, that voice in her conscious grows worse. She's seated with her hair completely undone, it falling down to the carpet in an light red-orange unbrushed mess.

Meisha runs a hand from her hairline down to her shoulder, eyes burning into the fucked-up reflection she sees before her.

_Why?_

_Why did she have to be this way? Why was she born like this?_

_Why was she even born?_

Her face is twisted in a deep scowl and she doesn't even attempt to resist as her hair begins to rise on its own, separating as if to be several appendages.

This isn't the first time she's wasted minutes in front of the mirror, trying to convince herself that those retched pattern of freckles and monster-colored eyes of hers that her mother calls _pretty_. That, _why_ with this nose that she has, and what _cruel joke_ was it to make her hair so _red_ and unable to trim?

_Her hair_

It is one of the things she keeps most precious and sacred, but it is also her worst enemy. When her parents realized why she legitimately _cried_ during haircuts, and her saying "the voice told me to" as a truthful excuse when she was three years old (which she does not personally remember speaking) were not imagined, everything changed. Even now, Meisha finds herself absentmindedly clenching and unclenching her fist in a hopeless effort to erase the extra, traitorous voice in her head.

Her eyes dart around her room and another tear falls from her eye. She looks for some way of escape, something to stop it, and her body is trembling. Her hair stretches out further around her, separating into long, waving tentacle-like arms. A choke for air leaves her lips and she grits her teeth. The voice is growing worse, telling her things to do, things she didn't want to do, and it lies.

**_He'll never like you. Go there and slit her throat. Kill them, get rid of them, that's how._**

It would speak

_You just have to get more_ attention, she would try to talk over it, _that's all. Put yourself more out there. No need...no need to be extreme._

**_Drag them across the floor just like last time! With them out of the picture—-_**

"STOP IT!" Her palms press onto her ears. Her eyes are squeezed shut and she's leaning over her knees.

The voice is telling her things she didn't want to do, but things that deep down, she suspected that she did.

_The blood...that...so much blood... _Meisha's hands digs into her scalp. She sits up and her wide eyes dart to her dresser drawer.

**_That blood!_**

In a swift movement, she dive for the white-painted drawer and raises a pair of scissors to one of her locks she grabs. She shouts again, and in a way, the scene is similar to holding a razor to another's throat.

Meisha is to turn seventeen in a few months, and to her family, she hides all of this every time.

"STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!"

The voice doesn't stop suggesting of blood and pain and death being the only option for her, of things she didn't want to do but the voice is making them seem like the _only_ option. It would always speak of devious and demonic ways to any and every problem she came across. It was insisted like a _life or death_ option, and Meisha knew it was true.

"_I SAID SHUT UP!_" She screams inside an empty room.

Her eyes squint and she cringes, figuring that this was the only way to stop the voice as she holds the scissors in her hand. At least, when she does, it stops for a while. Meisha squeezes the small clump of hairs and snips it as close to her scalp as she could reach. Her scream retches from her throat and echoes throughout the house. Luckily, no one else is home to hear.

While for many girls, cutting ones hair is a difficult and emotionally painful process that would probably be filled with second thoughts and maybe tears of regret. For Meisha's however, it was more on a literal level. While she _did_ experience second thoughts, the pain was more _physical_ than emotional.

Her hair is a part of her

and it was like cutting off a finger or an arm or making a deep cut

While she sits alone in her room, hands covering her face as a fresh wave of tears come me over her, she feels alone. There is no one she could tell, no one who would understand. She's crazy—she has two voices in her head, for god's sake—and anyone she could possibly tell would likely shun her, disown her.

Her shoulders shake, hair having fallen limp again to the carpet. There were no more voices besides her own. And though there was no blood, there was still pain.

She sobs into her hands, not knowing if the tears were more from the pain or wave of temporary relief.

After recovering, the scissors would be returned to the drawer, and she would sweep the trimmed hairs under her bed, making a mental note to vacuum them up later. She would clean her face and put on a fresh pair of clothes and braid her hair tightly. The last thing she would remember that night would be shakily crawling into bed and wiping free a few stray tears.

* * *

**_A/N: I'm going through some bad times so I don't feel well right now. I think that can be seen on my tumblr page. So I apologize ahead of time if this chapter is bad. I've just been breaking down a lot lately, more than usual. But I don't want that to get in the way of me updating. But just know that if I do slack more on updating, that is why. That and homework. But I can't guarantee I will updating much on this story for the time being, or if I do write at all. So if you want me, you can talk to me on my tumblr (link in my profile)._**

**_I want to thank you reviewers one again. So, so much, thank you. You don't know how much less crappy seeing your kind words make me feel. But even as i'm writing this, I'm going through another episode, and plus one of the people I talk to on tumblr had just attempted suicide. Sorry._**


	17. Chapter 13: This Daring Game

**_A/N: to that guest, Cyanide Siren, Transfan, and Lyra: You all are so, so nice! Thank you so much! I was honestly afraid that I was going to get a little hate or upsetting messages from my last a/n. I can't say how much I appreciate all your words!_**

**_to Transfan1623 and Lyra: _**_Thank you so much for understanding, really! And though I think I said it before, thank you oh so, so, so, so much for liking and even more for reviewing! It means more than I can say! Now to answer your reviews (because I think it needs to be) there will be interaction with Rainy very, very soon, and will probably stick more to her too in coming chapters (because I also want it too lol). But for this story, I didn't put OCs in here for no reason. Because there are OCs and other canon characters that will be making an appearance, expect some chapters to be either about them, to not have Pietro in some chapters, and both. At the same time, Pietro and Rainy will be having independent chapters as well. I'm trying to not make the story too confusing and overwhelming, and still at the same time include the other characters in here and meaning to them, canon and not. I'm trying my best. Rainy and Pietro's relationship IS the core of this story, but there will be moments without one or both. Just thought I should say this_

* * *

_"Oh yeah, and Marya wants you to go buy a chicken for dinner. The already-cooked one from Publix,"_ _Wanda had said, bending over to the arm of the couch._

_"The money is on her pillow."_

Pietro shuffles the packaged weight under his arms.

_"And actually buy it this time, she said."_

"Yeah, yeah, blah, blah..." Pietro grumbles under his breath.

It was perhaps fifteen minutes after the rain let up when Ronny and Meisha left, Meisha's parents pulling up in the driveway to pick both up. The clouds above are still an ashen overcast and currently there is a light drizzle. Meisha and Ronny had been picked up maybe forty-five minutes ago.

As Meisha sashayed down the driveway to her parent's car, Wanda had stood with Pietro in the doorway waving after the two. Wanda had seen Meisha's father salute past the tinted windshield. The car hadn't even pulled off down the road when Wanda had turned to her brother and reminded him of the dinner he was in charge of this time. And of course, he hadn't shown that he particularly _favored_ the duty. And then she turned to him with her hands on her hips.

And for some reason Rainy had come and wouldn't leave his mind

Now, he's jogging from the grocery store with his goggles on when he felt a drop fall on his nose. He isn't jogging very fast, but still it made him pause, slide his goggles to his forehead, and look to the light gray sky. He must have been slowing down again, he thought to himself. It is unusual for him to actually feel rain _falling_ rather than running _through_ it.

The sidewalks were almost clear save for a random soul, periodically.

Pietro adjusts the heated chicken in his arms again and slides his pushes his goggles further into his hair. He remembers that there is a group of students at the school who are setting up for Spirit Week. Is around four o'clock, so they would probably be leaving soon. He pitied the poor souls who had the job.

The thought of Rainy had come for some reason

He wrinkles his nose and his lips form in a slight pout. The school isn't that far from his location, and even nearer with his speed. He could make it there in about...ten seconds, maybe.

**_. . ._**

The sun's crawl across the sky is the only indication of the uncounted hours they must have stayed here. A boy who went by the name Liam gives a purposely loudly, indicating sigh for what was possibly the twentieth time that afternoon. There is a lot of them stuck here on the school grounds; they had all been stuck listening to Sherry chatting away with the others about one thing or another, none of it particularly caching Rainy's ears or knowledge, so there wasn't much she could contribute to with conversation. Liam rolls his eyes and sighs again. Rainy looks up and catches a dark boy nicknamed Skeeter sending a judging look her way. And so, she sits there on the tile floor across from Sherry's location, penciling in letters and painting colors on the makeshift banner the two were supposed to be finishing—_supposed to be_, as Sherry has been talking more and working less for the last few hours.

This is the third and probably _final_ time Rainy is brought along to sneak into the school. Right now, she could have been doing something useful with her time instead of working on displays for an event that few cared for, and more so for what happens at the end of the school day—she could have been studying instead, or finishing the last of that romance novel she checked out not long ago; or she could see if there was an informing special on television. She could be sitting outside as the weather warmed, or watch the stars, or _something_...

_Who was she kidding?_ This was the most time-passing "entertainment" she would get for some time. At least, it's better than lying in her bed and waiting for sleep to finally force her eyes shut.

_She has nothing better to do with her life_

"...and before you want to _insult_ me, you might want to consider that for _someone_ to take you seriously to not to do so while wearing _those_ shoes and ugly _sweater vest_."

Liam gapes. "This is my Key Club sweater!"

Sherry's brows rise, silently speaking, "_exactly._"

Rainy leans her back against the whitewashed wall and watches as Sherry tells off one of the most inconsiderate and privileged boys in their year. to one of the boys The only reason Sherry is here with him is due to their mutual friend, the student body president, and who had also appointed them this duty for banners and posters. Personally, Rainy only obeys the orders she had been given—such as tagging along and "just don't speak anything to that canary bird." And if he talks down to her, that Sherry would take care of it, as she also spoken. The boys had told Rainy to "just don't touch anything" and that they didn't need her help. Rainy hadn't argued and had heed their order, not holding any personal objections anyhow. But Sherry had butted in, ignoring that they weren't too pleased with having the razor-mouthed Juliet Capulet along with them.

_But then again, when was the last time Rainy truly had the urge to do anything?_

She finishes painting the left corner of a welcome banner; she merely stares silently. Her eyes are exhausted, with slight bags due from fluctuating sleep patterns. And her head tilts back, wondering how to burn imaginary holes in the plaster ceiling above. Liam give an aggravated groan this time.

And that's how it has been for a good, long while longer: Rainy leaning back on the freezing tile, tuning out Sherry and Liam's bickering until the strawberry blonde comes into her line of sight, then Rainy's world turning on its side.

Sherry freezes, accidentally nudging the other over. Rainy holds her usual blank stare, turning back to a random cluster of pock holes on the ceiling.

"Get up, Rainy." Sherry leans over her friend again to look Rainy in the eyes. "I'm sick of being around these _losers_. C'mon, I need your help finding some duct tape to finally hang this up so we can leave."

And without a word, Rainy gets up and follows the strawberry blonde down one of the school's long hallways. Rainy steals a glance at Sherry, hearing offensive accusations being called after them by Liam. She sees Sherry square her jaw and level her shoulders and keep her twitching stare straight ahead. And if Rainy had any access to her emotions, she would have became enraged.

It takes coming to the end of the second hallway that Liam's screams finally faded out. And that is when Sherry finally gives a sigh of relief. Rainy steals another glance, and wonders if she should practice her own facial expressions in the mirror again, having classified it as a unprofitable cause to continue.

Sherry grits her teeth. "I just wanna—_punch_ that idiot in the _face!_" Her nails bite into her fisted palms.

Rainy keeps the other's pace, both looking straight ahead.

"He gets on my _nerves._ _So much_, you know?"

Rainy looks over again.

"Why won't you _say_ anything? He doesn't bother you at all?!"

"Not really." Rainy shrugs. "It could be worse."

This earns a wide-eyed look from Sherry. "Worse? Like _how_? He said offensive things and said that you would have been more useful back in the _fields_ if—-" Sherry stops herself before her anger would get the best of her again.

Rainy opens her mouth but quickly snaps it shut, deciding that, "well, I don't know. If I had _feelings_ and then was _aggravated_, then _maybe_ I'd tell you," not being the best thing to say. There is already one too many who knew about her _issue_ than she'd like, than she planned. The hall is silent once more.

_"You were right—just to set your mind at rest—I cannot feel._

_Now, what do I have to do in order to keep you quiet about it?"_

It really was one too many in her opinion.

_'Definitely could be worse,'_ she thought.

"I wish I wasn't so bothered about things like you are," Sherry speaks suddenly. "He just..._arrgh_!" She shouts, it releasing unused energy. "I just want to strangle him _so_ _bad_!" She curls her manicured fingers around air and shakes her hands, as if strangling her frustration.

"Then why don't you?"

This earned another look from the strawberry blonde, almost as if she couldn't believe the brunette's answer.

Rainy shrugs, turning her palms up in a slight shrug. "Well then, why do you keep complaining about it?"

A beat passes with Sherry still staring ahead before shaking her head and muttering, "whatever."

Sherry and Liam almost always end up arguing or disagreeing on _something_ whenever placed within ten feet or less of each other. It's something Rainy has noticed that is almost always accompanied by Liam's ears turning a bright red and him walking away, grunting the most obscene beliefs under his breath.

_Rainy observes constantly_

Liam doesn't like having either of them around. The response is something Rainy is conditioned to expect. And it didn't bother her. Nothing really _bothers_ her...

Sherry rubs her arms. The A/C unit kicks on through the pipes above.

Allegedly, there is a detention session this afternoon, so, according to Liam, now is the perfect time to sneak in and out undetected, as he claimed. But Sherry is still nervous about it.

"I'm still creeped out from last time," Sherry admits, still rubbing her arms.

"Last time?"

"Yes! Those noises that we kept hearing!"

Rainy thinks back, clearly remembering how her friend had jumped nearly a foot in the air at being spooked; she remembers coming across the boy in her class, Pedro, the one with gray hair. "We?"

"Yes! Now, you can't say that you hadn't heard _anything?_"

Rainy looks off to the side, keeping her lips sealed.

Sherry sighs loudly. "I swear, this school is haunted now."

"You say anything is haunted when you get scared."

"No I don't! And this time I _swear_!"

"Whatever..." Rainy mimics, and then lies, "I'm bored." Thought she couldn't feel, she could tell when a mistake could be made, and she is close to making one. She decides to change the subject. "So, what's going to happen with the banner? It's finished, right? You said that we should leave and get away from those guys."

"I'm sorry," Sherry sighs and apologizes for something Rainy isn't sure what for. "I know they're jerks. They shouldn't be that way. And I shouldn't have asked you to come. Neither of us should have come."

There's another brief silence that passes.

"I just want to get over with this—for Spirit Week to hurry up and come. People talk about this for all of the first half of the year and its nothing special. It's just the same contests, people hooking up, and some crazy event always happens. And it's not like anyone really _cares_ about a dress code. ...But I do wish that the movie would be shown out in the field like last year. That had been fun," Sherry pouts.

Rainy tucks away a strand of hair that strays into her view. "What happened last time?"

"I'm not sure... I just know that some guy had been found almost dead in the girls' bathroom. At least, that's what I heard."

Rainy's brows didn't even rise at her friend's story. "So this place _is_ haunted?"

"Pfft, _no_!" Sherry rolls her wrist. "He died at the _hospital_, not here," she answers as if saying "of course." But Sherry then bites her lip. "That didn't help did it?"

It is Rainy's turn to stare.

_blood_

_blood blood blood blood blood blood_

_It was a girl  
who found him bleeding out on the restroom tile floor  
barely alive_

_BLOOD_

_RUMORS_

They continue walking, Rainy ignoring that Sherry has scooted noticeably closer when they heard the sound of a desk scraping across the floor. She tries to shrug it off. The were on their way to the art room again. Rainy is scanning the area.

Sherry is known as a happy girl who is always optimistic, in the few memories Rainy can recall. Sherry's parents are very well off, also—Rainy sees this in how Sherry could almost always keep up with the latest trends effortlessly. At school, she isn't necessarily popular, but almost everyone knows and is pleased by all those she comes in contact with. She's spoiled, a little oblivious as well, especially when it came to picking up signals. So in situations as this, Rainy would have to come up with an alternative to sidetrack her friend.

_Rainy remembers the day she met the girl with a large bow in her red hair on her first day of school. Sherry had immediately turned around and introduced herself with the same wide smile she has to this day._

They near the art room. Judging by the setting sun outside the hallway windows, they would have to leave soon make it home before dark. But Sherry has started up babbling again, and though Rainy hadn't even flinched at hearing the sound of shoes sliding out into the hallway not far behind them, she knew that her friend hadn't heard.

Sherry points to a random classroom door, still chatting away about one thing or another that Rainy tunes out. Rainy remains with her placid composure and hands behind her back as Sherry jiggles the doorknob until remembering that with a particular _kick_ the door could open—a trick she overheard from Liam. She barely checks around before dashing inside and rummaging through the teacher's supplies once more, leaving Rainy in the doorway. Sherry is still chatting away—this time about something Rainy's other friend, Michelle, had come up and spoken to her—as she slides out a large bin from the supply closet and begins going through it, so indulged in her self-story that she doesn't hear the slight snicker behind Rainy in the doorway.

This is the second time around, almost _exactly_. She was almost expecting this to happen.

"...and then she had said, _'then you had better get your snooty self out of my face before I show you something really unpleasant_._'_ And so I said '_then if you're so smart why don't you step up to the plate, big talker'._"

Rainy watches with folded arms now at Sherry leaning over into the large bin of art supplies, her feet kicking up as her story continues and she dives deeper. Rainy dar not to jump in lest it distract the girl more and they stay even longer. But she is sure to add a periodic replying "uh huh" and "yeah." Her eyes dart hearing a dry crunch behind her.

_While Rainy may have lost her sense of touch_

_That of hearing has not dulled at all the passing years._

"And can you believe it? She dare try to insult _me_ with that fake brand she sported!"

It isn't Rainy who replies. "I know! Must've been damn awful!"

Rainy doesn't need to look to know who had given that smart-ass and sarcastic comment behind her, who it is biting on a Payday candy bar and grinning. In fact, instead of whirling around—like Pietro had assumed—Rainy merely shuffles her arms and backs up to the doorframe.

"I bet it was real tacky too, huh?!" He cups his mouth with a hand and comments back to Sherry in a high-pitched, almost mocking tone that sounds far too enthusiastic than Rainy thinks he meant.

Sherry still doesn't notice, still rambling on.

He takes a final bite from his candy bar then leaves with hurried footfalls, shoving the wrapper in his pocket.

While she knew that he is no longer beside her, Rainy knows that he is close enough in earshot. "Well," Rainy speaks aloud purposely, "you truly are ignorant."

"I mean, it would have been fine if she'd just _asked_, and...Rainy?" Sherry had suddenly looked up to find Rainy staring off. The brunette snaps her neck back around, hearing her name. "You okay?"

Rainy hesitates. "…Yeah. Listen, there's something I forgot to take with me. I think I left it back there with the banner."

Sherry is confused. "You sure you want to go back there? I mean—-"

"It's something I have to tend to as soon as possible." She's looking down the hall again.

"Uh, ok..."

But Rainy hadn't waited for approval and Sherry trails off to herself as the brunette disappears outside the classroom door.

When she is some distance away from the open class door, she calls aloud, low enough from Sherry from hearing but loud enough. "I know I remember that last time I told you not to interact with me any further."

There's a sound of sneakers across the tile beside her and then a deep, "now what if I just wanted to say hi—-"

She whirls around. "No need," she interjects, still incredibly calm. Rainy had been ready to kick him behind the knees, but he is out of reach.

He smirks, chewing on more food. "Oh, and so _now _you remember _that_, huh—-?"

"Irrational assumption."

Pietro pauses. "_What_?"

"That is an irrational assumption—there is no way that _you _could hold _any _type of knowledge of me enough to state any definite facts."

"English, dammit!"

Rainy looks at him directly. A finger raises to him. "You," then in a waggly gesture before pointing at herself, "don't—know—me."

"Well that's all fixed if I wanted to get to know you, wouldn't it?"

"Well what if I wanted to finish using that box cutter? This time not a mistake?" she threatens.

There was a moment of pause between both, glaring.

"Why can't you just be nice?"

"Why can't you leave me be?"

Silence..

His look is stern now. "Look, I don't know why you're so against a guy like me from even—-"

"Because you obviously don't know how to do what you're told, even when it's good for you."

Pietro cracks a little smile unintentionally. "You're right, I don't."

"And I know that you're only here for whatever dare it was. That's why any geek would ever come up to talk."

He shuffles on his feet, his eyes darting to the side before looking at his tattered sneakers. "Wow, ouch. No faith?"

She folds her arms. "Don't say that you want to help me either, like some idiot. I know why you're here and I don't care. This is none of your business. You can't do anything for me." She jabs a finger in his direction. "Besides, any form of kindness will be taken as hostility."

He's silent for a moment, his dark eyes glaring into hers. "How would _you_ know that, when you don't give anyone a try—-not that I'm _trying_ to, anyways," he shrugs.

Rainy grits her teeth, hoping she looks intimidating and serious. "Leave—-"

"-—Me be~" He finishes for her, purposely speaking in a whine. "I know what you said; I'm not deaf."

Rainy's stare is unwavering.

They are disturbed by Sherry calling Rainy's name, her sounding unsteady and unsure, and automatically, Rainy turns in the direction. She isn't sure how much of an idiotic move it was or whether he cared when she gives her back to the boy. She hears him chuckle and speak in a low tone: "you really should watch yourself, sweetheart. You could end up snapping at the wrong heels."

She hesitates, turns, another insult ready, but finds that he is no longer there and the hall empty. She concludes that he must have slinked into a nearby classroom. And she isn't going to look for him either way. She isn't his mother.

Rainy's ponytail sways as she turns on her heels, returning to the classroom and answering her friend's call for help.

**_. . ._**

"Took you both long enough!" Liam voice rings as the girls return.

Skeeter is still seated on the floor, scratching his dreads and unbothered as if used to the spoiled boy's outbursts.

They all were, actually.

Rainy just keeps ahead and her hands folded behind her skirt.

Sherry is the only one to show displeasure. "Zip it, Osborn! You're not finished either, so I don't know why _you're_ complaining."

Rainy notice the spark behind his eyes before Sherry even finishes. Immediately, the boy motions to his completed contribution to Spirit Week, which he is quite proud of. "Ha! That is where you're _wrong_—we've been _finished_!"

Sherry huffs, handing her shock and not wanting to pout in anger. She is going to let his victory slide. She ignores his mocking as she helps Rainy pick up the bane they had been painting.

Sometime in his ambitious rambling: "that's why women shouldn't be doing hard work. They need to stay at what they're best at: babies and staying in the kitch—-"

Both Skeeter and Rainy had been watching the chaos unfold literally in front of them. And of course, Skeeter had let out a snicker when the entire roll of masking tape flying to the back of Liam's head and stopping his talking, earning a satisfying whiny "OW!"

Needless to say, Liam remains quiet as the girls leave their banner, their shoes clicking further down the hallway and towards the school exit. He had looked o Skeeter still seated on the tile and asked "what?!" very annoyed, at the other _still_ chuckling away.

* * *

**_A/N: As I've said before (I think), school has got to be my first choice right now and will be the main reason for the gaps in updates. But now aside from that, while I'm not giving up on this story by a long shot, even as I'm uploading this chapter I'm still finding it extremely hard to get my muses back and is why this chapter seems so OOC. I can't explain it and I don't know why or how exactly to get it back because I feel like it gets worse when I was forcing myself to write this. So for now updates to this will be unpredictable, I'm sorry._**

**_And while I don't want my passion flame for writing to go out (it has done so in the past), I'm going to be writing a little bit here and there but I still can't guarantee it will solely be for this story. Many of my other stories are far behind so if you do see me updating those, it's basically chapters I've already written and are proofreading._**

**_EDIT: My moods are still really whacky and I've relapsed not too long ago, so please don't be surprised if you see some angst in the near future with any of my writings._**


	18. Chapter 14: Presumption

"She's so mean"

"She's must be so ignorant"

"Yeah, haha!"

Rainy is uused to hearing insults like those by now. But she has to admit, that in the beginning, they did hurt a lot.

"I bet she wouldn't know a horse's face from her own ass"

They didn't hurt her anymore. No, by now they were only words that passed in one ear and out the other. Besides, even if she wanted to feel something from it, she couldn't.

"Oh my god…"

"You know, I heard that her dad—you know, that guy running for mayor—I heard his wife's been cheatin'"

Rainy had always known, actually. She wasn't as stupid as some perceive her to be, especially with as young as she had been when she found out.

Rainy was always praised for seeming to excel in her studies other than so many her age.

She had been suspicious though—though mainly curious and annoyed—when she noticed that the spare room in their home was seeming to be used more and more, and her parents' bedroom started began to have a different scent lingering in the air.. And then there were the sudden sounds that would wake her in the night sometimes.. They were random and didn't happen much, but still. The then-second grader Rainy would sit up in her bed just listening to the house. She could hear the random sounds, some squeaking, maybe a low muffle she could hear from in her dark bedroom.

Her father had left the house around the time she usually went to bed, so the only thought her young mind could conjure was thaat it was the two of her parents arguing and that he had returned.

It wasn't arguing  
And it definitely weren't her two parents

There were a handful of times she had tiptoed out of bed all the way to the extra bedroom, but for some reason her small fist always hovered over the door, never knocking and complaining.

Rainy remembers when she confronted her mother about it. It had been sometime over breakfast, her father already left for work, and her mother commenting on how tired her daughter appeared. Her mother had been lighting another joint whilst asking the question. When the smoke unintentionally swirled in Rainy's direction, Rainy had exhaled deeply, somewhat wanting to mimic her mother but heeding the order to not try the substance until she was much older.

"You and Dad were arguing again last night."

Her mother paused, her brows furrowing. "Me and your father weren't arguing…" she commented around the joint between her teeth.

Little Rainy had rubbed her eyes and reached for the spoon to take a bite of cereal. "I heard you both from my bedroom. Were kinda loud…and it kinda sounded like you were yelling like you were trying not to wake me up again."

Her mother froze. At that moment, she knew that her daughter was far sharper than she expected, and dreaded the day she would have to explain this. Who knows, maybe Rainy had already snuck up in the middle of the night and peeked in the door without her knowledge; maybe her daughter had seen but didn't know with her limited knowledge..? She knew that Rainy would have questions, much like she had when she first saw her mother light up one on the Fourth of July.

The woman braced her hands on the counter, feeling her heart stutter. This was a situation she had hoped to keep away from her daughter until she became of age.

What if Rainy had gotten up in the middle of the night and peeked through the door?

She hadn't  
And that would happen later on, almost to the end of the year  
Little Rainy Capulet would witness a scene that she would not be able to wrap her mind around around,  
And she would equally push it to the far reach of her consciousness

That conversation would be followed by many of similar curiosity in her coming years, including politics, why were there different men coming and going from their home several times a year, and the usual questions of budding puberty.

Now, Rainy sat still that night with her head in another book of hers. Her feet were propped against the wall and music was playing from somewhere in her room. She wanted a change of scenery from seeing her father at the table with his nose buried in some kind of political mess, and her mother and marijuana.

That day after school, after throwing the roll of tape at Liam's head, Sherry had called for a ride for both of them. The girl had been quiet except when spoken to, something that would have been alarming—Sherry almost never stopped talking. Sherry only ever stopped talking when she was truly angry.

Rainy let her hands drop to the bed, the book falling to her chest. That day, only a day ago on a Wednesday—it was still in her mind.

_"Look, I don't know why you're so against a guy like me…"_

SILVER HAIR

_"I don't know how you put up with something so bothersome?"_

CHERRY LIPS

Rainy turned over on her bed.

She didn't know either.

From her bedroom, she could hear the murmur of her parents' conversation in another room. Her father had a naturally very deep and loud voice; Rainy could tell from her bedroom that he wasn't too pleased with the subject on hand out there.

Rainy flipped to lie on her back.

She didn't talk about her home life much—she didn't like talking about it. When she has, it's very vague and she makes sure that whoever is asking, doesn't want to ask more about it. Sherry doesn't even know, beyond general knowledge.

Rainy was once an honest and social kid

That is why her mother is so worried

Rainy now keeps more secrets than she knows what to do with

_"now what if I just wanted to say hi?"_

Rainy looked to the window. The sky was still dark. She could hear her father's booming voice thru the thin walls.

She had a very difficult time trusting others. In fact, she didn't even trust many in her own family; that is why she didn't want to keep talking to that Pedro boy. Besides, why should she even trust someone who seemed to want to look like they had poor style and who obviously talked too much for his own good?

_"Why can't you just be nice?"_ his dark eyes had glared at her

Why did he insist on approaching her? She couldn't fathom a reason why, Rainy thought as she grabbed for a pillow, watching her fingers mess with the stitching. She had made a name for herself at school for being difficult to approach. She always gave rude answers, practiced having a disinterested look in the mirror , and she purposely wasn't very social, all for the sole purpose to not have anyone question her.

And yet she had had someone. And now he knew everything.

_'Why?!'_ she questioned herself.

She had no reason to and she didn't know him—maybe it was the fact that he was a weirdo and wouldn't get far socially anyway…? Maybe it was he fact of his appearance, and she took a sort of pity to him?

She didn't know and didn't like it, but was certain of one thing: she had to fix this.

It was starting to get darker outside as night approached, Rainy saw.

Her parents had ceased arguing for the time being, but she could pick up miscellaneous sounds in the house: a blender, the television far off in the living room, the A/C kicking on...

To her, her parents have always seen her as their prize little girl—their daughter that has always gotten high grades and special certificates, like the Honor Roll. Rainy was the polite child of an office worker and pothead ex-hippie, ironically. She was the obedient one that always did as she was told, who used to love making cookies and treats with her grandmother in the south. She was the daughter whom they thought would grow up successful and marry happy; she was the daughter they never suspected would feel numb inside, literally.

Probably stereotypical it seems, but despite, Rainy's parents did truly care for her—and had personally picked her up from school when she was younger, and they constantly ask how her day was. They tried to show even if they weren't always around.

But no one knows of the night she was changed—no one except that boy, and he only knew vague details.

That boy.

BLINK

That boy of silver hair and quick tongue.

*camera shutter*

The one who had stared at her for so long all those years ago, as if he was shocked or frozen.

Pietro Maximoff

*camera shutter*

That boy of nibble feet and odd mannerism. A weirdo, a social freak who doesn't chew his food and insists on wearing only left gloves on both hands. He never got along with anyone because of his temper or bad social skills.

*grey sneakers*

*camera shutter*

o

_black pause scene_

Yes, Rainy thinks as she glares at the wall, she had definitely told her information to the wrong person.

If she could feel, she'd probably feel something like guilt, maybe anger toward the boy from school, but in this late afternoon, all she felt was literally nothing and watched the ceiling fan turn above her.

She turned back to her book, determined to finish it and fill her mind with something other than this. It was some cheesy book she had gotten from the library about some rich girl wanting to run away with some macho guy she is supposedly so in love with, and as a way to get out of an arranged marriage. The main female was bland and overdone, and the guy she loved fit too much into the unrealistic dream-Romeo mold. She was glad, at least, that the macho guy added the drama, and always enjoyed the parts where he come unannounced and was so hellbent on getting the girl to marry him. He was clever, determined, ad sneaky. It was like the two other main characters could never hear him when he slid into the room until he was right behind them. He liked to talk too, like he could never—-

SILVER

Rainy dropped her book, staring wide eyed at the ceiling.

How? _How_ did—how _could_ he come to mind?!

Why did he keep coming to mind; what was it about him that fascinated her so, that she kept replaying that event over and over in her mind like she was looking for a missing piece?

"Why can't you just be nice?"

That's what he had said last time, right; the first time? Something like that.

_"I don't know why you're so against a guy like me…  
You really should watch yourself, sweetheart..."_

She wasn't—not personally—except if you count the fact to keep his mouth quiet about her secret, than she had every right to be against him. But she couldn't deny that her mind kept being occupied by him.

Besides, he never did anything against her, she concluded. So...

She convinced herself that that was it.

Rainy turned to her bedroom door before it even pushed open. Her father stuck his head in, asking if she'd like to ride with him since he needed to go to the grocery store and that her mother was faded at the dinner table. Though Rainy knew her father, and knew that he would most likely drive to about five other places just for the hell of it before actually going to the store. A head of grey hair came to mind and she agreed before she could think more about it.

Rainy lets out a sigh.

* * *

_**A/N: I don't think this chapter is much and is quite short, but I'll have the next up asap, and it will hopefully be longer than this.**_

_**It's been almost three weeks since my spring break that me and a couple girls went to Universal Studios. It was absolutely amazing and was the breath of fresh air I needed to start this new year, and hopefully stay on a good mood. **_

_**I want to thank you all for understanding, for those who saw my message last chapter, and hopefully not giving up on this story Because I haven't. Age of Ultron is coming up too quickly and I can't wait. :) Now to answer my awesome and (god thank you) faithful reviewers!**_

_**to Lyra:** you never fail to put a smile on my face to be honest. And please don't feel bad about the long review. Please don't feel bad at ALL. I actually adore them and crave them! And to answer your question, I pronounce Pietro the same way. I just roll my tongue a little with the r._

_**to The Scheming Turtle:** This chapter is still in order, so no it's not after the box cuter incident. :)_


	19. Chapter 15: Detention I

_**A/N: Sorry for dropping off the face of the earth for a while. Classes got crazy again. But I got my muse back since I recently saw Age Of Ultron. I am still a trainwreck of emotions.**_

_**Also, Cyanide Siren: thank you so much :)**_

_**And if anyone has anything to say, flames and rudeness are **_**_unwelcome._**

* * *

"_Wha-what…?_"

Meisha found her feet wouldn't move. Her golden eyes were like those caught in headlights and no matter how hard she tried, she knew there was no help. She stood stock still, staring up at the banner hung high in the hallway. 'SPIRIT WEEK' it read in large green print, and under it listed the hosted activities tone there, such as dancing, a kissing booth, and for all to "bring a date."

Bring a date.

Bring a _date_!

Meisha's vision spun. How in the _world_ was she supposed to have a date_—_she couldn't even get her stockings to stay up or keep herself managed throughout the day before her hair started frizzing. If she couldn't keep _herself_ together, how the _heck_ was she supposed to get _a date_?! An actual, living, _breathing_ _date__—_when she couldn't keep _her_ shit together.

Some students pushed past her. Meisha didn't do anything about it since she was standing in the middle of the hall, after all. But the pressure...

Oh, the pressure!

If one didn't show up with some form of a date to Spirit Week_—_oh, the embarrassment that would come, the taunting and the finger pointing! Meisha couldn't go through with that. Not now. Not again.

From the lockers, Michelle White watched the redhead. She saw the way the girl with the long braid swayed on her feet and wondered if she was going to faint. The redhead was a weird girl, Michelle had heard, and part of that freak clique of school. The girl was staring up at something_—_the banner, Michelle suspected_—_but couldn't fathom how something like a simple _banner_ would make one want to sway like they would faint.

Michelle pushed the textbook she didn't need into her locker and turned in time to see a tall boy in a red and white jersey bump shoulders with the redhead, almost effortlessly pushing her over_—_well, it was more of a side bump since the girl came up to mid neck for him. He was some friend of hers, as far as Michelle could tell, so he must be one of that clique _freaks_ too, Michelle conclude to herself as the two walked off together. But again, that was none of her concern_—_she only needed to pass her classes is her first priority. And as she turned to Janet Leonard at the locker beside her, Michelle asked for the notes from history class. Janet, however, had seen where Michelle had been staring and pointed it out, asking, "why were you staring at the freak?"

Michelle came up with a half asses excuse of: "So what I was staring at her? It's not like I was going to go up to them and interrupt their little freak session, am I?"

Janet gave her a look between one of knowing and one that said "I sure hope not," as her light brown ponytail whipped and she pulled out the three pages of notes. The two girls walked together to the same classroom, ignoring the ignorant calls from a group of boys as the girls passed. And Michelle had laughed as Janet flipped her hair in response to the direction of the catcalled "compliments."

Both girls pulled up chairs to a single desk, one chair to face each other. It was still four minutes until the late bel rang for class, and until then, they had time.

Janet smacked the gum in her mouth. "So," **smack**, "who you hooking up with for Spirit Week?"

Spirit Week was exactly a month away. It was the one school event that was given so much advertisement and concern that one would think it was an actual holiday_—_other than school sports games, that is_—_and that's why it was getting so much attention. It was the one day out of the year that students were encouraged to wear their school colors, advertise the school via merchandise or any other way imaginable. Classwork was held to a minimum_—_if your teacher was generous, that is_—_all the risk for being written up to the office was, for some reason, held to a minimum as well. Dress code was practically nonexistent and it wasn't too uncommon to see a group of students running through the hallway wearing beads and wristbands and facepaint, and then blend in perfect at the party later that day. They were already dressed for the party anyway.

It was also an sort of strange coincidence-like tradition that every yearly something happened. For example, three years ago, someone was proposed to. Two years ago, a student brought a gun to school, and another finally stood up to his teacher, indirectly helping reveal his teacher a pedophile. Last year, a boy was found bleeding out on the floor in the girls restroom; and finally there was this year. There was a party going on every year, on or around Spirit Week, and that is what all the talk among students was mainly about. For the students, Spirit Week was just a cloak.

And the parties were great apparently, even though no two stories about them were exactly alike. It was like a sort of unofficial tradition to hold them, complaining it wouldn't be Spirit Week without some party. It was preferred to dress similar to your partner_—_your "date"_—_whom you would be joined at the hip during the events.

"Who said I was going with anyone?" Michelle chirped.

Janet paused mid chew to gave her a look.

"You think I'm going to waste my time looking for some guy to ask me out?" she laughed.

"Haha, yeah," Janet answered sarcastically. "Like that same guy you were trippin' over at the basketball game?"

Michelle gave her a look that said she obviously didn't want that said aloud.

Janet picked up her pen and began playing with it in her hands, tossing it back and forth. "Ya know," she drawled like she does whenever she reveals some juicy gossip, "that guy who was trying to talk to you near the lockers..."

"There were, like, three of them, Janet." Michelle pulled out her notebook and textbook for class.

"Well that one that was on the right."

"I think it was Henry-something, wasn't it?"

"Yeah I think so. No one can pronounce his last name anyway, so I know who you're taking about," Janet spoke quickly. "Anyways, I heard from Sandra and Nicki that he likes you~! And is going to ask you to partner with him for Spirit Week." She spoke the last part quickly, purposely so the other wouldn't catch it.

"…Why would you tell me that!?" Michelle squealed, giving Janet a playful push on the shoulder.

"Because he likes you…!" the other cooed.

Michelle reached over and took Janet's pen when hers dried out so she could quickly finish her homework before class. "Well I don't."

"Hey!" Janet snatched back the pen when Michelle was writing mid-sentence. "You can't just snatch my pen like that!"

"That wasn't snatching," Michelle corrected calmly. "_This_ is snatching." She went back to finishing her sentence, ignoring Janet's glare.

And Janet took it back.

"_Hey,_ just let me finish this." Snatch.

"Nope. Not until you answer to Henry-something about going." Snatch.

"Stop playin' around," Michelle laughed.

Snatch.

Snatch.

"You know I gotta finish this homework, Janet!"

Snatch!

By this time, the two were standing over the desk, giggling, clearly and quite literally tugging over a writing pen. Each tug was worse than the last with darting arms to tickle. It got so bad that when the bell rang for class, it scared both girls so much that when they jumped, the pen flew across the room and hit a girl in the head seated at the other end of the room.

"Oh shit!"

The girl didn't move or speak out about it, but she did notice the swirl of red around her own hands on its impact. The pen had bound off her head and landed on the floor beside her chair.

"I'm so sorry!" Janet hurried over, hoping she hadn't started a fight.

The girl in the red hooded jacket merely bent over to retrieve it, and silently hand Janet the pen without looking at her or removing her hood. Her movements were slow and almost mechanical, and she knew Janet would be staring at her. Everyone always stared at her, that's why she kept the hood on.

Janet slowly took it, suddenly wondering why the girl was acting oddly. But she didn't get time to ask about it_—_not like she would have meant it anyway_—_because the rush of students then flooded in for the class. Janet turned hearing her name called by a trio at the door who knew her. She quickly left, trying to shake off that sudden eery feeling. Michelle called after Janet that she'd return Janet's pen after class, waving it in the air.

The girl in red didn't look up from under her hood even as the teacher walked in seven minutes after the bell. Her paper and pencil were already out and ready. No matter how uncomfortable she was here, she was going to pass her classes. Her grades had started dropping and she was determined to bring them back up.

She closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath, trying to will her anxiety and therefore her powers down. She didn't want - didn't need - anything crazy to happen today. So she looked ahead and did her best to pay attention when the teacher began writing on the chalkboard. She focused all her attention solely on the burly man at the head of the classroom. But she did notice the brunette when she first sat down. The girl with brown hair that changed to a dark blonde at the ends; her seat was assigned not too far away. The brunette wasn't wearing the style she usually wore and instead it were more darker colors, and there wasn't an item of tie-dye anywhere this time. The large dull green jacket she wore_—_probably her father's_—_it didn't help much.

Wanda did scrunch her eyes once during class but didn't pay much mind to the girl seated beside her_—_she couldn't, she reminded herself to. So, she simply shook her head and continued copying down notes for the upcoming quiz.

The girl beside Wanda was dressed differently on purpose, at lest that's why she "borrowed" her father's old jacket for today. It's not like he would notice anyway_—_he rarely wore the thing.

But she didn't talk to anyone today, and when she did, it wasn't much. She never did. She had an agenda today_—_for once she wasn't going with the flow of things. She was going to set things straight, lay down a few laws, as her mother would say. She made note of the time and the schedule for today, and when most students would have left campus and of what teachers left the latest.

By now, one could probably considered her skilled in stalking in and out the school undetected. Especially after all the practice she's had with Sherry, Liam, Skeeter, and the others.

**. . .**  
**. . .**

"There will be no talking, no communicating of any kind, no eating, no sleeping or "resting your eyes." That means no morse code, or, whatever it is you kids do with your hands," Mr. Newell gestured wildly in the air.

"You mean sign language, sir?"

Pietro and several others snickered.

Mr. Newell snapped at the silver-haired one before answering crossly with a "_whatever_." "We are going to write an essay of a thousand words or however much it takes you to fill up a page, front and back. An essay, so not a single word repeated over and over and no skipping lines. That's the only way any of you all get to leave detention this afternoon. And if you fail to do so, I'll be seeing you next saturday after school."

A few groaned in objection.

Mr. Newell cut them off with a mocking groan that was louder than the others. "Yeah, well deal with it!"

"Looks like Mr. Newell is still on his period today," Pietro leaned his head back, not making much attempt to whisper to the girl behind him.

She stifled a smile.

"Can it, wise guy. Or I'll be seeing you again next week."

Pietro sneered back.

The skinny boy in the front raised his hand. He was some boy that wasn't very talkative but very awkward, so no one knew much of him.

"What now, Hughes?" Mr. Newell sighed, setting his hands on his hips.

"Um, I have to leave at around five. You see, I have an appointment for my_—_-"

Everyone was squinting their eyes in confusion way before Newell cut him off with a "can it, prima donna."

Now, Newell started passing out a page of paper to each student. "No music, _no_ _sleeping_," he pulled the chair from under Pietro's feet.

Pietro gave the man an evil glare and changed to rest his feet on the desk.

"Maybe, you all will learn from yourselves with this. Maybe, just a miracle might happen and common sense would strike in you young folks' little brains instead of thinking it's _fun_ to play hooky or break the windows in a classroom, or hang peer by their underwear in the locker room." He pointed at each student who's crime it was mentioned as he exposed every one.

Pietro didn't like this one very well, and when it came to his turn, the corner of his lip pulled back in a silent snarl. One girl flipped him off and got a second detention session.

Newell wwalked to the front of the room. His arm flicked and he glanced from his watch to the clock far in the back. "The time now is 4:12 in the afternoon. You all have approximately two hours to write your essays."

Pietro raised his hand from the middle of the room. He sighed.

"Maximoff."

"I don't have a pencil, Mr. Newell." He pouted purposely. It was a mocking manner. "Unless you accept alternate methods of writing it…say_—_-"

"Alright." Mr. Newell squinted before standing and passing out sharpened pencils. He cut the fast talker before he could come up with any ridiculous excuses to waste time for a few laughs.

"You know I can come back later and do it. All I need is_—_-"

He was cut off again by Newell slamming his No. 2 on the desk making Pietro jump.

"…Anything else, Maximoff," Newell spoke between his teeth.

The boy thought for a split second. "Yeah. Rod Stewart wants his closet back."

**. . .**  
**. . .**

"So what are you in here for?" Hughes asked.

There were now on five minute recess and the girl sitting at his side just stared at him.

Pietro rolled his eyes.

"Did you really bust a hole in that west wing science lab?" Hughes continued despite her looking very uninterested.

She didn't look up at him, picking under her black painted nails that matched her dark clothes and eyeliner. "Yeah so?"

"So_—_why?"

"_Because that moldy bastard pissed me off_," her voice grew. She was referring to a science teacher, one of the old, almost retiring ones. "_Do you want to see me pissed off?!_"

Pietro had a judging look. "Cool, Count Drama."

"So, why are you here?" A girl in a pink shirt spoke up. She wasn't seated with the trio, appearing to be of a more popular clique, but she had wanted to get in on the conversation.

"Why's that any of your concern?"

"Well because everyone is telling theirs, why not you?"

"You don't need to know my business, pinkie pie."

The girl was wearing pink shoes and carrying a pink bag and accessories. The only thing that wasn't pink was her jean skirt and her hair. Pinkie Pie didn't seem to favor his answer but Pietro could care less. He was bored, he didn't want to be here and he could have gone across town and got a snack and been back a before recess was over. But he couldn't because he wasn't supposed to let normal people see his powers. That's what Myra always said.

They were called back inside then and worked on their essays for forty-five more minutes until one announced their hunger. And after thinking about it, Newell released two students to go to the cafeteria and bring back a couple milks and anything else edible. To get them out of his hair, he sent Pietro and the girl in black that was starting to creep him out.

The walk was awkward and only sound was the traction of their shoes. Pietro crossed his arms and the girl shuffled behind him. They were passing dark classrooms and Pietro stared into a random window. She was obviously a quiet type and he wondered if he should start a conversation. Should he? Or should he keep quiet?

"So, what's-your-name. You apart of that goth group?" He referred to the unofficial goth society group made by students.

Pietro paused to let her catch up and when she did, she had an annoyed, almost sad look.

She shook her head. "You're so pathetic." And she took lead.

Pietro stood still, mumbled, "sorry I asked."

He was looking down so he didn't notice the third figure creep beside him until he felt a tug at his side. He jumped about three inches in the air to see Rainy standing there, the usual blank yet slightly judging look on her face. He didn't know if he was relieved to see her and get away from that girl in black, or if he should be worried.

Pietro let his raised arms slap to his sides. "What do you want?"

"That would have been an interesting picture, seeing you squeal like a little girl…" she mused, "why didn't you scream?"

Pietro shoved his hands back in his pockets, ignoring that she was following him. "I don't have time for this right now…" He turned back down the hall, but he never made it there.

In one fluid motion, Rainy had grabbed him by his jacket and pushed him to the side into the classroom she had been hiding inside.

He stared at her in angry shock. "_Do they ever lock these doors_?"

Rainy covered his mouth, though he protested. She was listening to the girl out in the hall who seemed to have stopped and noticed her partner's absence. When her footsteps faded, Rainy took her knee off of his chest but still hovered over him. Pietro wheezed back to life.

"What the absolute…You…! What do you want?!"

Her glaring eyes bared down on him. She blinked once, still a placid look on her face. "Answers. Final reconciling. Whatever it is you would call it." She stood. "Why do you keep following me?"

A grey brow arched. "Why am _I_ following _you_…?"

"I don't like repeating myself even if you are that slow."

Pietro threw his hands up, slowly getting up from the fools. "Well this is certainly a turn of events." He took in her large jacket, black tank top and jeans underneath. "What can I do for you, your highness?"

"I clearly told you to not contact me and you continue to do it. You continue to play a fool and you obviously are trying to meddle and embarrass me."

Pietro watched her fold her arms and he held in a smile, listening.

"So, I've come with a final proposal."

His brows raised.

"Is it money—is that what you want?"

He mouthed a "wow." "Who said I wanted money?"

"Isn't that what you freaks want—popularity? Money will get it for you. If you walk in with a couple hundreds—I can get it for you."

"…Now I was going to say something nice like I just want your company, but now I'm regretting it." Pietro didn't expect that answer though it was quite tempting. "But who said I wanted money?" He held his hands behind his back, beginning to circle her. "What if I just wanted to ruin your life?"

The corners of his lips tugged upward. She didn't break her stare, her expression just as hard.

"Good luck trying."

A pause passed between them. Pietro didn't know what to say. Rainy just stood with feet spread apart and a slight frown to her lips. Pietro looked from them back to her eyes. A slight smirk played on his lips.

"This is getting nowhere," she crossed her arms. "Are you really this slow or are you just being difficult? What classes are you taking? Someone like you must certainly be in—what?—intermediate classes, right? You're one of those C crew, aren't you?" They were all not meant to be questions.

"You're being exceptionally cruel today," he eyed her questionably. "What's your deal?"

"Like I said: leave me alone."

"Then you wouldn't have come here if you wanted to leave me alone." He smiled, stepping closer, wondering if he could actually piss her off. "You just can't stay away from me, can you sweetheart?"

Rainy's face didn't falter.

"You like me, don't you—-"

"Don't be preposterous."

"I'm being absolutely proper."

She looked like she gaped as she thought of another insult. "…You are completely hopeless—-"

"Oh, am I? Well you know how people like me are then, don't you—-?"

"That you are a slacker. You have no care for authority or respect for others and you wouldn't be able to tell a right answer if it hit you in the face."

He just stared, biting his lip. Pietro shuffled his hands that were still in his pockets and glanced behind him. "Are you talking to me or looking in the mirror," he pointed to the mirror hanging on the wall that neither had noticed before. "Cause, you know, you said you wouldn't be able to feel if someone punched you—-have you ever been punched?" his eyes squinted as he said the last bit quickly.

And if Rainy could get angry, she would have felt it at that moment. Instead, her eyes that always appeared hard and hostile, stared at him in a way she hoped was menacing. "...You are being ridiculous. I didn't imagine it would be this hard to get simple things like this across to someone like you."

She crossed the room to the door.

"Where're you going?"

Rainy ignored him. He was being overdramatic.

"Aren't you going to help me?"

"What could I possibly help you with?"

She sounded like she was getting angry and Pietro perked up. "Like you said: I'm terrible in classes. Aren't you going to tutor me?"

Rainy didn't look back. "Why would I encourage the problem?"

Pause. "Because you don't have any feelings, you wouldn't mind, plus it's a way to pass time since that's what someone with a boring life does anyway, right?"

Rainy looked across the room at him. Paused, then, "no."

"Aww, c'mon…!" When he was answered by Rainy opening the classroom door, " he blurted: "if you don't then I'm going to have to tell that girl you hang around your little secret and to maybe "trip" and spill some hot water on your hand or something."

Rainy would have rolled her eyes at that moment. "You're assuming that I haven't practiced such reactions for such situations." She would have had a chuckle to that.

"Yeah but not if it's boiling." He poked his cheek with his tongue. "_Plus_, I'd suppose you'd want your necklace back..?"

A locket on a thin golden chain hung from his fingers.

She didn't know how or when he stole it, but it wasn't there around her neck anymore.

"Amiright?"

"Are you serious...?"

"You're not the only one who can blackmail. ..Oh look! It's a little picture of little—-"

"Give it back!" she yelled, hoping to sound threatening.


	20. Chapter 16: Intermission I

**_A/N: Lovely reviewers, you are what keeps me going and I thank you all who review :)_**

**_to Cyanide Siren: _**_thank you so much! I'm trying._

**_to Lyra: _**_Thank you so much! You too always make me smile! I'm __trying to keep the writing interesting and not drift from my original plans for this story (and how to mash it with other Marvel works for later), so I'm relieved you still like it! But tell me, I'm curious, where do you think this is going? :) Also I can't say if my writing has changed. To me, it doesn't seem so.._

* * *

"Hold these will you?" The tall, tan woman handed the blinds to the shorter version of her, this version having long red hair. The woman had just gotten off work artier that day and seemed to hold herself with confidence and very professional. She had her bushy hair held up in an afro-like fashion.

Meisha took the blinds without objection. She watched her mother climb on the lowest shelf that was to the ground and reach for a particularly large monkey wrench high on a hook. Once getting the tool, her mother hoped down, straightened her blazer and ordered her daughter to follow her down next Home Depot aisle.

It's been two weeks since Meisha's…episode, if you'd call it, and a day since she noticed the large banner hanging in the school's hallway. She's been more silent since seeing it.

At another aisle for lightbulbs, Meisha's mother took back the tools and blinds to carry herself.

They were here on an errand. Meisha's mother found her daughter lounging around in her bedroom, sprawled across the window seal and sighing heavily. Her mother had watched Meisha for some time, admiring how beautiful her daughter was and wishing she saw that. Plus, her father needed some new tools and materials and new blinds in the kitchen.

Her father was a contractor, her mother a social worker.

Mother and daughter traveled to pick up various screws and nails and a sledgehammer. And through it all, Meisha had kept silent, giving her mother short and hushed responses and answers to her questions. Her daughter was looking down a lot again.

Coming to the cash register, she asked Meisha to take the things from her and place them on the conveyer belt while she went to grab a box of medicine she forgot to shop for. Meisha did so without obligation or looking the cashier in the eye. She knew he must be looking at how abnormal her hair was for someone with skin like hers. He was, instead, looking everywhere but at the girl.

When Meisha's mother came rushing back and huffing, she quickly handed the cashier her debit card and apologized for her heels clicking so loud across the linoleum. He told her it was no big deal. When her mother came rushing back, Meisha noticed she was rubbing her under bicep. Her mother just laughed it off.

The cashier pressed a few buttons and a receipt came out. "That'll be $72.34. .Would you like cash back, ma'am?"

Meisha's mother waved her hand that it was not needed. She turned, catching her daughter's turn of the head. Walking into the store was a girl in a shiny aqua green dress and jelly shoes. The girl was walking with two others.

"That's pretty what she's wearing, no?" She shielded her eyes from the glaring sun, the wind blowing as they walked back to the car.

Meisha had already turned back ahead at the cash register upon noticing her mother following her view. She didn't respond right away. "No." She shrugged. "It's alright," she admitted, closing the passenger door.

The materials needed for her father and the ones her mother needed were in separate bags in the backseat.

"Don't lie to me," her mother smiled, pulling out into the road. "You think it's pretty, don't you?"

Meisha's arms were folded. She wasn't going to admit it. She shrugged instead.

Her mother was driving and didn't see her shrug. "Why don't you wear stuff like that? That girl was so pretty! And she looked so happy with her friends!" She stole a glance at her daughter who was looking straight ahead. "Would you wear a dress like that if I bought one for you?"

Meisha shrugged again, this time more for hereof. "It's alright, I guess…"

"Ok, so I'll buy you a pretty dress and you'll have to wear it."

Meisha turned to her mother. "Mom!"

Her mother knew Meisha wasn't very fond of dresses and skirts. They left her feeling too open and exposed. Of course, she told her mother this, but had insisted that she "dress more ladylike" and "should get comfortable wearing them because she was going to have to in the business world." Meisha always huffed at it.

"So you wouldn't wear it to, like a dance or something?" She thought for a moment. "_Is_ there a dance or event coming up?"

Meisha turned to the window. "No," she spoke softly. She was lying, and her mother knew it.

"I _did_ hear that there was something coming up in a few weeks at your school…"

Meisha's eyes widened and started mouthing "no, no, no" over and over. Good thing her mother couldn't see her reflection from the window as Meisha was turned fully to the one at her right.

"Why don't you go?" her mother finished, then thought about it. "…Do you _want_ to go?"

"Because."

They came to a red light and her mother gave her a look.

"Because it's stupid and I don't wanna go."

The look went on.

Meisha remained quiet.

"Mom," Meisha didn't look up, "I don't _want_ to go," she lied.

"Well why not? I'd think you'd have a lot of fun." The light turned green and the engine revved.

_Because it was too much pressure... To find a date... To avoid being laughed at just for being there..._

PRESSURE

"Because it's a waste of time with stupid people and I'm not going."

"I think your friends would like to go," her mother insisted.

No, they wouldn't."

_They weren't allowed.  
Freaks and geeks and other outcasts were unofficially the automatically uninvited to these type of events._

PRESSURE

_PRESSURE_

"Well how do you know that? Have you even asked them," she pressed.

"I just_ know_."

Her mother honked the car horn, adding noise to the already growing tension.

"Meisha, I think you'd should go."

A truck honked as it passed them.

"That dress was pretty. I think you should go."

"I don't want to go to some stupid party, mom! It's not something for me to go to." Her bangs began swaying as if there was a breeze in the car despite all the windows being closed.

"What do you mean? Of course you can go to that if you want to." She stole a glance over her shoulder and put on the car blinker. "We should go get you a dress."

Meisha clenched her hands. "_No_..."

"Why not? It's gonna be fun! Look, we can get you a nice dress, get your hair done pretty, and some makeup. You can go with your guy friends and then you can maybe make some girl friends while you're there."

"_Because I can't go!_" Herhair snapped suddenly, her bangs lifting and end of her braid, that had been resting in her lap, snapped forward like a whip, putting a scratch across the windshield.

The sudden snap and flash of orange out of the corner of her eye frightened Meisha's mother and the car screeched on the breaks.

"_My god, Meisha!_"

_"I told you I didn't want to go "_

Her mother grabbed at her own chest. Meisha didn't see and was heaving under her seatbelt.

It took Meisha's mother sometime to collect her bearings and the car ride home was much more quiet. Though she loved her daughter, her daughter was a mutant after all. And ever since Meisha was small, she was reminded. Even though she loved her daughter very much, there was still a private, very deep part inside her that was somewhat against her mutation.

Meisha breathed out an "I'm sorry."

Her mother told her that it was all fine, but her knuckles were now tighter around the steering wheel.

**. . .  
****. . .**

Ronny sighed again. The ceiling fan was on medium speed but that didn't bother him. He was already had the covers pulled up to his chin.

He was in his room, action figures and school books and lava lamps decorating his shelves and desk.

Ronny rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He had hoped that the sounds of Mazzy Star would bring some feeling of solitude and relax, but it seems his parents have traveled to right outside his room. They were loud enough that they might as well be right outside his door. They were arguing again, and Ronny could care less what it was about.

He blinked.

His mother called out some complaint about his father. She nagged about his lack of responsibility and not being family-oriented.

His father spat back some kind of comeback.

Ronny's ceiling fan spun. It looked dusty. He should probably clean it.

Feet and heels stomped down the hall—now thy were not far from his bedroom door. His parents climbed the stairs and Ronny could picture his mother shaking her hands near her head like she does when she gets upset, and then her point at the ground to help emphasis her argument. His father would be pointing with an open hand, neck veins popping, probably in his wife-beater tank top or camouflage army jacket.

CAMOUFLAGE

Ronny was apart of the only group of mutants at his school, probably. Well, as far as he knew. A boy who couldn't be caught on camera, a girl who could change her hair into the same sharpness as knives—Ronny was so relieved he had found the two he called friends, no matter how much of an asshole one of them was.

Ronny shivered and snuggled more into his thick comforter.

Camouflage...

He's been getting cold a lot recently. he looked in the direction of his mirror that hung on the back of his bedroom door. That mirror has saved him multiple times from being found out, more ttimes than he could possibly think of. His room was one of feww places he felt relieved and safe.

Camouflage…He pulled the blanket s back to make sure he could still see his own skin. Lately, he's been cold a lot, asking to turn up the heat even when his mother stated it was 75 degrees inside.

_"Would you rather it be that humid 80 outside?"_

Yes, but he'd never say

The only time he felt warm was in sunlight, oddly enough

Ronny sniffed, feeling his nose beginning to run from the chilling 75 degrees it was in the house, thanks to his mother finally reducing the chill a few degrees..

His curtains were drawn too—probably by is mother earlier—and if he would muster himself enough, he'd open them and turn that blasted fan off too.

He was _freezing_.

Earlier, Peter had called for Ronny to accompany him to another arcade center but Ronny didn't feel lile pleading an assessor in robbery again. He knew that the speedster was probably stealing that ping pong game he's been having his eyes on for months. Ronny had refused after several pleads, saying he was in bed "sick." Even when then phone suddenly hung up and there was soon a rapid tap on his window, Ronny answered a loud "NO!" from his bed, still. Peter had probably dragged poor Meisha with him instead.

Ronny sniffed. He should probably pull back the curtains soon before it got dark and his room got even colder. His action figures could use a little dusting too. And he had one too many lava lamps.

Outside his room, his parents had migrated to their room and the yelling seemed to have dwindled down decibels.

Other than both his parents and himself, the Di Gallo house was otherwise empty. Their landlord didn't allow pets, so Ronny had to get rid of his pet dog when he was younger, before they moved. He had cried a lot that day. The walls here weren't allowed to be repainted or redesigned, so there was a faint flowery pattern that only his mother liked that covered the living room and guest bathroom.

His mother, she was a nice woman, whose he feels he's grown an even more closer to since his mutation started, ironically. Ronny's mother was one of those who was all about the hospitality to guests and who smiled and hugged a lot.

To him, his parents seemed like two totally opposite people, and in the back of his mind, privately to himself, sometimes he wondered how they became a couple and stayed together for so many years.

How could they have a mutant son ?

HUMAN

MUTANT

Ronny was probably the only person in his familyy who has mutated,a nd that scared him. Well, there was Uncle Frank who the family never talks about… but who knows. Still, it scared it. It scared him a lot.

In a way, he was thankful for his teenage years—given that was the excuse his parents were convinced on why he was always in his room and would rather be out with friends. He had managed to have them conditioned to—hopefully—not ask many questions. Ronny was a good boy, he was a good kid who held his tough too much and a bit too much of a wussy, according to his father.

_No one knew of the tantrum he threw the first time he found out_  
_Blaming it on getting caught in his sheets and_  
_having a mess of a fall_

Ronny was thankful for his teenage years because he was feeling quite a bit moody. Maybe that was why his body temperature was—probably?—lowering.

He rolle his sleeve back. Maybe puberty causes lots of rashes too. They do say your body goes through changes, some later with some stages than others. Maybe puberty is what caused the rash on his inner lower arm. It's just weird that it was shaped in a sort of repeating circular pattern, and the more he looked at it, the more it kind of began resembling an imprint rather than a bad trash.

It's just weird that rashes can have patterns. More specifically one that has a light resemblance to scales, almost.

* * *

**_A/N: I've noticed Wanda isn't getting much love. What would you like to see her in for a chapter or two? (or more?)_**


	21. Chapter 17: Intermission II

Wanda always knew she was different. From the time she accidentally sent a sizzling pan flying across the room to when they were driven out of Transia, their own country, she knew _what_ she was but didn't have a word for it until now.

_Mutant_

That's what people like her were called; that's what she was.

Different. A mistake. An abomination.

The next step in evolution—this knowledge and term won't come until years later, but still.

Still, she knew that there was something…_wrong_ with her, even through the many times Marya told her there wasn't. There was just something that caused a smudge of confidence and arrogance in her over the fact that she could do things others couldn't. But along with that came the threats, the risks, the secrets that she's had to keep since coming to America and since gaining her abilities.

First, it started with her. Then it had to include her brother.

When Pietro gained his ability of super speed, that was an entire game changer. Wanda thought that _maybe_ she'd be the only one with powers, kind of hoped so. She didn't know why. But in all honesty, she was glad she wasn't alone in this situation. That now, at least her brother knew and could understand her struggle. They'd been through so much: from traveling, being literally ran out of their home town, to starting completely over in an entirely new country, and now high school. One could say that she and Pietro would have so much in common—but oh, what a lie that was. The Maximoff twins knew each other insides and out, could practically read each other's minds and had a very close bond, but in no way were they the same. Not entirely.

It was in little ways too—Pietro liked nuts on his ice-cream cones; Wanda liked caramel drizzle, what he loathed on his. Their favourite colors were on opposite sides of the color spectrum; Wanda was studious while her brother could care less about grades. She was very careful and somewhat the family peacekeeper; him, not so much. Also, not to mean their difference in sex.

Two sides of the same coin, that's what Marya had always said about them, always called them. They were completely different, but fit together so well.

_Marya fell in love with the twins since the day she saw them swaddled in cloth_

Wanda, personally, couldn't understand it. But like almost everything her aunt said, Wanda just let it roll off her shoulder, nodding that she understood but let it fall into the basket of other quotes the woman told.

Wanda cared for her aunt—that was a given. She and her brother cared _so much._ But still, she felt like there were some things Wanda just couldn't tell her, and she didn't exactly know why.

Most of it had to do with things at school.

Wanda wasn't the popular girl—not by a long shot; not that she wanted to be either, though she did wonder what it would be like… There was no way she could be popular, there was no way she could remove the hood from her head, what she knew was keeping her from making a lot of changes she only wished she could.

Without her hood, she feared she'd lose control.

It happened once, and she feared it happening again.

Wanda still hasn't told her about the exploding preserving jars that happened

or the very low odds of a crane flying through the school windows

that she caused

_Wanda still didn't know that she caused the bathroom toilets to overflow_

Wanda Maximoff was that quiet, kinda weird girl in school. You knew she had wavy brown hair, but couldn't see her face because of that damn red hood. She didn't like confrontation and when it did happen, rude words seemed to always slip out. Or none at all. It depends. Side-eyeing had become her trademark.

Wanda was odd. She didn't exactly get along or fit in and she only felt at ease in the wildlife club she became apart of, or on her own, or with her brother. She did try once, to blend in, but...

She was a misfit in all means of the definition.

She was different and she knew it.

She was a mutant and hated it.

She hated it. She hated what she could do, she hated what society assumed, she hated what she is. More times than she liked, she's caused damage to her family or anything that happened to be a bystander. She never meant to for it to happen, but it did without her control. She didn't like it and tried to keep it from happening, hoped it wouldn't happen.

She wished she could make it stop happening.

But she knew that was inevitable, deep down, and she absolutely loathed that. But she had to work on it, she guessed, like Pietro was learning to slow down more. That's the best she could do. And to her luck, an incident hasn't happened in weeks now.

Wanda pushed her hair behind her ear

Maybe now she could muster up the strength to talk to Troy Baxter.

Wanda stood at her locker. The door was still open and she was transfixed on the sandy blonde socializing with his usual friends near the opposite side of the hall. She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed the butterflies in her stomach to slow. They didn't though, Wanda took a few gulps of air before closing her locker, shuffling her books and walking to the boy.

Troy was a part of the more popular group, with being a talented basketball player, he had his own group he hung around, mostly talking about sports teams, and girls and the like. Wanda knew he had relatively good grades so that was a bonus.

But as Wanda walked closer, the butterflies wouldn't still, and she swallowed again.

The boys he hung around were the tall ones who liked to play sports and were a little muscular. Every time Wanda laying eyes on him, her stomach flipped and her heart sang. She had to muster up the courage sooner or later. She'd only talked to him a few times, but still.

"Hi, Troy…"

The conversation immediately died. Troy turned with wide eyes; his friends gave more questioning looks. Wanda identified two of them as those she had history with.

"Hi…um…" Wanda waved her hand. She didn't notice her fingertips glowing a tinge red.

NERVOUS

FIDGET

BLUSH

Wanda pushed her hair behind her ear again, inadvertently pushing her hood back too.

Troy blinked.

One of the boys next to him, this one with a small afro, chimed in. "You're that quiet girl in my class!" A sly grin spread across his lips. Wanda knew a taught was coming afterwards and cut him off.

"Wanda. Yeah." She turned back to the one she had come for. "Um, Troy…" She moved her hands as she spoke, nervously. Wanda had her eyes down and no one noticed the slight purple in his eyes. "I…since spirit week….I-I wanted to see if you were doing anything, a-and if anyone has asked you yet…?"

Troy smile seemed a bit lazy. "Asked me what?"

"…About spirit week. Um, having a partner."

He shook his head a bit too slowly.

"Ok then…"

Another boy at his side smirked. She could feel the tension rising and the teasing that would surly come. Wanda immediately feared the worse outcome. Her hands burned a bright red from inside her sleeves.

"I was wondering if you and I could partner up f-for Spirit Week, if that's ok with you…?"

He hesitated. "Wanda right?"

Her head fell. She nodded. Her face burned in a blush.

"….Sure."

His friends looked at him incredulously.

"Sure," Troy repeated again. "Yeah….yeah." He was smiling widely now.

She blinked and was speechless. Her wide eyes must have gave it away too because Troy's friends were looking amongst themselves and back at her. Wanda nodded and left. She was more surprised than shocked from his answer to let the big smile that threatened to show.

**. . .  
. . .**

Clarice Wilhelm was one of the most popular girls in school, and she'd like to keep it that way. Known for her "flawless" hair and fashionable clothes, she was also pretty and attracted all the attention she wanted. She was the girl that she wanted all the girls to envy and the boys to want.

And surprisingly, it was never that hard for her to do.

She had her parents drive her to school in their newest car and they never got out to walk her and therefore embarrass her. She always smelled good—like flowers, they say—and the nerds couldn't not let her copy their work.

So she couldn't understand _why_, or more likely _how_, that weirdo Maximoff was going with Troy Baxter. That girl—Wanda Maximoff—she was so _weird_! What did he even see in her?!

Clarice didn't like him, not like that. Besides, she had the three guys she kept around, wrapped around her finger, and not to mention that boy, Thomas. She knew Thomas had a crush on her, like quite a few boys here did, but he had liked her since fifth grade. She hadn't liked him—still doesn't not in that way—but that didn't stop her from sucking up to him and acting like she did. That didn't stop her from using him to her advantage.

Several years ago, three years to be exact, she had convinced the poor brute that he would be able to be a part of the more popular crowd if he'd get rid of the other two slackers he hung around. One, she knew was smarter than he let on and hoped he'd go on to being one of the nerds, but the other one…she had conducted a plan to make sure he wouldn't want to come back.

She had made Thomas humiliate his best friend.

LAUGH

POINT

TAUNT

CROWD

Well, to Clarcie, it was all worth it. Now, that little silver-haired freak was where he belonged: in the background with the other outcasts. Thomas was too pretty and good-looking to be hanging around someone like that. Well, at least to Clarice. And that puberty is doing Thomas well, at least.

But still she wanted more, more attention. She had to have all eyes on her and she didn't like what that Maximoff had done. Now when she attended the school's basketball games, Troy Baxter wouldn't come and talk to her, put his arm around her. Instead, he'd probably go to that _freak_, Wanda.

Clarice wasn't taking to that very well. In fact, she was almost fuming. She glared at the back of that red jacket's hood throughout english and writing class and since they had assigned seats, and had ignored the three of her friends who asked if she was alright. She was annoyed and a bit confused. It didn't wary at lunchtime and her food was barely touched. Why did he say _yes_, and from the story told, his friends hadn't said anything either. And she just couldn't understand _why_.

"Clarice," Mckenzie chewed, called to the short-haired blonde but got no response. "Hey, Clarice!" she yelled and stopped her out of her daze.

Clarice jumped and collected herself. She couldn't look ruffled or out of place—the taunting that would come from _that_. She had to always be perfect.

"What's with you?" Mckenzie asked. "You've been bothered all day. What's up?"

Mckenzie sat beside the blonde at the lunch table, all the others at the table into their own conversations. Clarice determined whether now was a time to tell or if she should tell at all.

Clarice was the popular girl that could everything she wanted

She 's able to handle some freak

"Some wise guy getting on your nerves again," Mckenzie chuckled, swallowing down a fish stick.

It was a funny question because they, both girls, could start a rumor and could get rid of the problem in a couple weeks.

Their main power were words and taunting

PERSUASION

"Something like that," Clarice answered, still not sure.

She couldn't see that damn red jacket anywhere here in the lunchroom and suspected the Maximoff must be elsewhere on campus, hopefully in detention. Either way, she was glad because she just wasn't_here_.

"There's this freaks that's really been on my nerves—-"

"You too! _Oh my god_," Mckenzie threw her hands up, "I've got the same problem! And let me tell you, it the most annoying thing…!"

The blonde turned to the brunette. "Really?" A small smile played on her face.

"Clarice—yes! I don't know how I'm going to get out of this one. I think I might have to go with him—I mean I already said _yes_, but I think I might actually have to _go_!"

Clarice shook her head, tisking.

"You'd be surprised at how difficult these little idiots can be, my god," Mckenzie added with an eye roll.

"One of them got Troy Baxter. I think he's going to Spirit Week with her."

Mckenzie put down the water bottle she had been drinking. "Who?"

"That girl, Maximoff. I think her name's Wanda. Remember we saw her coming out the bathroom when the pipes busted."

Mckenzie shook her head that the name didn't spark anyone she knew in mind.

"She's the girl who was leaking period blood in her science class," Clarice clarified and Mckenzie remembered hearing about that.

"Wow, how embarrassing," Mckenzie commented.

"I know. I'd _die_ if that happened to me."

Mckenzie watched Troy at his table off to the left. He and other boys were talking with one leg up on the seat an passing a ball around. "No. I mean how embarrassing because I don't think Troy actually likes her. At least, not really."

"What do you mean," Clarice turned to her friend.

They really were the only ones listening in this conversation.

"I don't think he's really that into her."

Clarice followed the other's gaze and asking as if it just clicked, "you mean he's using her?"

"Of course. Or at least going to ditch her when Spirit Week comes. I mean who would_want _to go with something like _her_? I'd do it."

Clarice knew it. She smiled since Mckenzie was still watching the basketball player at his table. She knew it all was an illusion, another cruel joke, and that there was no way Troy could like someone like her. Besides, Clarice wanted that attention.

Beside her, a boy who had previously been in a heated argument with others paused and turned aside. He grabbed Clarice by the waist, bringing his nose to her collar. The blonde squealed, squirming in his arms.

He breathed deeply. "You smell like flowers," he smiled.

The blonde giggled. "It's all natural."


	22. Chapter 18: Detention II

Sherry didn't take well to the more popular crowd, the one that was filled with liars and bullies. Sure, she was quite well known herself, but there was a fine line between being _good_ popular and _bad_ popular—at least in her mind there was—and she had chosen which side she would be on from the beginning.

She's tried talking to Mckenzie Shabotz, Clarice Wilhelm and the others in their lot in the past, but it always ended not on good terms and the girls just didn't get along, and all those on their side just didn't speak against their word either. This popular crowd was much larger than Sherry's, with many from the sports teams to back them up. That side of the popular world provided most of the house parties, kept the cliques and outcasts in their place, and hosted most of the school events—they were literally at the top of the chain with not much competition. But still, Sherry chose her fights carefully.

Sherry Addams has been shunned, teased and belittled in front of others by them but she liked to think she was too optimistic for that and to let it get to her. Those people were pretty and smiled at the camera, but talked shit and showed their demon tails behind the scenes. That's also how she imagined them, since growing up with many

Especially Mckenzie and Clarice

Sherry was very talkative and had unintentionally made a sort of posse of her own, though she wasn't always around them.

Sometimes, she talked a little too much, which put some people off from her. But the thing about her is that Sherry didn't care much and she wasn't very picky on whom she socialized with. Sherry was always nice—to the best of her ability—she liked to think of herself as such—and which is why she continued talking to Rainy. She remembers when the girl had been much more cheery than she is now, until something happened to her that took that away. She knew Rainy's home-life was tough, so she tried to help.

It wasn't, but still.

Michelle White didn't like Sherry, really. She thought the strawberry blonde had a motor mouth and didn't know when to put a cork in it, and she said Sherry was a bit annoying. Michelle didn't like Rainy hanging around Sherry and tried to get the girl to sit away from the strawberry blonde when in class and whenever possible. But Sherry would take notice now and then of it, and waited until class was over to confront the brunette, after Michelle departed, of course.

Sherry was called too talkative, was noticed for her intelligence, but she was sort of oblivious to things.

This was the third day Rainy was wearing that large, ugly jacket and looking like she was up to no good which she was going to get caught doing. It would have just passed through Sherry's mind as nothing if it wasn't Rainy's father's jacket. Sherry remembers Rainy showing it once.

It would not have been such a noticeable deal if it wasn't her father's jacket

_"I could care less about his decisions and what he does. It's not my concern."  
_she had said once

Sherry waited by the water fountain, twirling a curl and waiting until Michelle departed in the opposite direction to her next class. She caught up with Rainy and leaned against the neighbouring locker as the other shuffled inside her own, making sure to bump against it and make noise.

"So," Sherry crossed her arms, eyeing her friend, "what's with the jacket?"

"What about it?" The brunette answered with a straight face, still switching out her textbooks.

"What do you mean _what about it_? Isn't that your _dad's_ jacket?" Sherry's voice rose a little.

"So?"

Rainy took out her notebook for her next class and closed her locker. She turned to the strawberry blonde who was ready to freak out, thinking there was surely something wrong with her friend.

"Don't tell me you're getting worked up over a piece of clothing, Sherry."

Sherry straightened up at the other's dull expression. "Well I _wouldn't_ if it wasn't your _dad's_." She leaned in a little, her arms still crossed over her pink top. She spoke slowly, "what's going on, Rainy?"

"Well, what makes you think something's going on?"

"Rainy…"

"Look, Sherry," Rainy put her hands up in a sort of shrug. "I've just got things to do. And the bell's about to ring and my paper is due in next class…" She waited for a response and when there wasn't one she added, "do you want to be late?"

Sherry stared at the other until giving up and started down the hallway, the brunette beside her.

Sherry huffed. "I know there's something going on."

"Do you now?" If Rainy could, she'd raise an eyebrow.

"Yes, and I know the bell's about to ring. And don't think I'm going to act like nothing's going on. You don't just pull your parent's clothes out the closet for no reason. Especially yours. And I'm surprised you could find something other than tye-dye in there."

Rainy knew that there was a lot of tye-dye in her home, mainly due from her mother. Surely she never thought that it was that much.

She was wearing a tye-dye shirt under her jacket, but she wasn't going to tell Sherry that.

**. . .**  
**. . .**

This time, Newell seems to be more compassionate. Instead of ordering another essay like he was so infamous for, he allowed the students to work on their homework. When a girl walked up to him for assistance, he helped her, which was a total surprise to the speedster. As far as he knew, Newell was a heartless ogre with greying hair.

Pietro ran a hand through his own light hair and turned back to the paper in front of him. He'd rarely do his homework—it was Wanda that usually encouraged him to do it—but he'd already finished his math homework and writing all those definitions his science teacher assigned was easy work. Now, it was this reading and writing work—Pietro raked a hand through his hair, frustrated—it was the hardest. That old lady expected them to read from page 124 to 143, read some story that would take an eternity and then write a paper on it. Already, it was taking him hours to get past the introduction.

He closed the book and ran his hands over his face. He just couldn't concentrate, been trying since 5:24, and it was now… Pietro looked to the clock at the front of the room and it read 5:28 p.m.

He wanted to flip the table.

His head slowly slipped from his hands to the desk, connecting quite loudly. He groaned and was shushed by Newell who was still in the room. Pietro knew he must be getting a kick out of seeing his suffering.

How was he going to get past the next hour and a half?!

Suddenly, his head jerked up. "Newell, I gotta take a piss," he called.

The man looked up, head still down in the direction of his newspaper. The story he had been reading was about some girl, a star of the girls basketball and track team somewhere, had been discovered a mutant, and then this smart-alic called out...

Pietro had his hand raised.

Newell thought for a moment. "Hold it."

Pietro's hand lowered. He then looked around, and spotted a load plastic cup probably left by a class. "Nevermind." He grabbed the cup. "I think I can use this… Well when you gotta go..." He leaned back and began unzipping his jeans.

Taken more by surprise, Newell ordered him, "OUT!"

The mutant left quickly, but not too quickly, and snickering to himself. He didn't need to use the bathroom.

**. **

Pietro had stretched his legs, ran up the street and gorged at the nearby McDonalds, and stolen a spare lollipop from some kid who already had three in his pocket. Pietro now felt better and had long forgotten about his homework, per usual. If only he didn't have to go back to detention.

He leaned against the school wall, sucking the lollipop and wondered how long it would take for Juliet to get here again. He pulled the golden locket from his jacket pocket and dangled it from his long fingers.

He still called Rainy by her nickname, Juliet.

He was now in the school library. He didn't much care for the place but from wondering the halls, it had drawn him in. That, and that the lights were still on.

Pietro pushed the heavy doors open and walked past the front desk, running his hands across the stapler, hole-puncher, and other supplies there. He paused, double-backed to stuff a few Post-It pads in his pocket and then wondered to the center of the room. In the front of the library was a large open area, then reading tables that students occupied. Bookshelves lined the last few reading tables and covered the rest of the library.

He sucked the lollipop, it making a popping sound when he took it from his lips. He glanced around the room, and upon hearing shuffling, popping the candy back in his mouth and snuck forward. A slight grin appeared on his lips and he held the candy between his teeth. He was now sneaking around the corner of one of the bookshelves. Whoever was in here was in a world of a surprise!

Pietro crouched, ready to jump and scare whoever was around the corner when whoever it was, shelved back the book and the footsteps faded the other way. Confused, he glanced down the aisle but only caught the vanishing color of dark green. He muttered in disappointment and then turned back the other way, ready to stand.

"You're footsteps are ridiculously loud. No wonder no one's afraid of you. I bet you wouldn't be able to sneak up on a cat."

Pietro saw Rainy walk from the bookshelves to the checkout desk. He frowned initially, but then decided to confront her and shoved his hands into his sweater pockets.

"Why are you here," he spoke around the stick between his teeth.

Rainy merely glanced up at him from inspecting the books in her hands. She had come to get first dibs on a new book that just came in, adding it to the books on hold for her behind the counter—but she wasn't going to tell him that.

She just blinked. "You have something that's mine."

"Oh—and what's that?"

"And you're going to give it to me," she continued emotionlessly.

"What makes you think I'd do anything for you?" he challenged, knowing she didn't like drawn out arguments, much less confrontations itself. "What makes you think I have anything that's yours?"

Rainy walked behind the desk and began searching for the slot with her name. "I can always go and expose your truth to those popular gang. I'm sure they'd find just as much enjoyment out of your fantasy as I have."

Pietro tried not to huff aloud. "Don't forget I have dirt on you too," he threatened back. "Little Miss "I Can't Feel Anything"," Pietro raised his hands to his sides in a mocking fashion.

Rainy now found the slot and hid the book under hers already there and Pietro stood on his toes a bit trying to get a better view of her crouched figure.

It wasn't that Rainy didn't want others to know about her curse—she could care less, actually. But it was the rational part of her that spoke if others _did_ know, she's end up like that girl in the recent news, that basketball star in the neighbouring state who was discovered a mutant.

Pietro looked the girl up and down and not for the first time, focused a second too long as she brought her hair out from inside her jacket.

"Why are you even here?"

"I'm not going to repeat myself over and over." Rainy stepped down from behind the desk. "Now, give it back."

"Ah ah," he chided, and she stopped in her tracks. "What makes you think I'm going to give it up so easily? You obviously don't know me."

"I don't need to."

Pietro gave a mocking pout. "Aw, and after all our time?" A look shone in his eyes and his face collected at an idea. "You have to do something for me."

"No."

_Short and to the point_

Pietro hadn't been expecting that answer and stood silent with hands still in his pockets for a moment. He gaped a little before recollecting himself once again. He began walking toward the library doors. "Well, I guess you don't want it back then…"

He knew Rainy was watching him—glaring, more like—at his back. He could practically feel her cold gaze.

He took the locket out that he kept in his sweater, swinging it from his fingers with a smug look she couldn't see. He walked slowly, knowing, hoping. The library remained silent, until:

"Name your price."

BINGO


	23. Chapter 19: Detention III

It's been two days since that incident during school detention. Two days because Rainy hadn't been able to convince her mother that she needed to stay late after school. For those forty-eight hours, she had been ready but upon being driven back home, she spent the rest of the day with her feet propped up on her headboard, tossing a ball in the air and watching the sun creep across her bedroom.

Another boring, unproductive day

For Pietro, he had won himself three more days worth of detention instead of one, that's why he was back and still here after class ended long ago. But it wasn't his fault, it was this sleezeball, Newell. He was just an old, cranky jackass who had nothing else to do but drive students to boredom with his droning. That's what Pietro convinced himself.

In reality, Pietro had spoken back in response to Newell commenting about his sarcastic remark, and continued arguing with the teacher. But since Mr. Newell had a dentist appointment, Pietro was only to stay for three days in after-school detention. Today was the last day.

Students had came and went. The girl in black was apparently only in detention for that one day. Pinkie pie too. And that boy, John Hughes too had been, but upon being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, was here today under false assumption.

Newell had merely rolled his eyes and sighed upon finding this out, falling in to his chair heavily at the front of the room.

Pietro had sneered.

Wanda still didn't know and Pietro was thankful. For as far as she and Marya knew, he had gone off with his friends after school. This was the third day in a row and he knew Marya would be questioning him when he returned. He would just lie, he decided. It was an easy and painless solution.

Mr. Newell was told that he would be in charge of detention for one day. Somehow, one turned into three when the original professor didn't show up and it ruined Newell's plans. Plus he was stuck with a smart-alic jokester and a momma's boy-wussy.

There were four other students here this time, all of them including Pietro Maximoff and John Hughes, who had their heads on the desks when Mr. Newell walked in from a restroom break. He walked to the front of the room with his hands on his hips and sighed heavily.

"No sleeping!"

All sat back with collected groans and glares. No one looked up and all looked like they were in pain.

Newell looked over the students. "…Who needs to use the john?"

All hands raised.

**.**

This session, John Hughes was seated next to him and Pietro was becoming increasingly agitated as time passed. Not only the fact that he had to sit here for another eternity, but he has been listening to this kid mumble to himself over homework for the past hour or so—it really was just ten minutes, but still.

He had been growing very aggravated by this kid, actually. Earlier, he had taken off his jacket to find Hughes was doing the same, and to him, it seemed like a mock. Luckily the other comprehended the stare in Pietro's eyes and shrugged his back on, making a show of warming his hands too. But still, the Maximoff needed to move. He couldn't sit still, not for long. Something had to be working or moving fast for him—whether his brain or his legs—and sitting around here just wasn't going to cut it.

And being bored can cause trouble. Trouble always came to those who didn't know how to sit still for once.

Pietro had thrown paper ball after paper ball between the girl and jock sitting in front of him, had played air guitar aloud—much to the annoyance to Mr. Newell—but nothing was getting better.

Sometime ago, he had asked the girl and jock if they were going together…dating…steady dates…lovers? He had gotten yelled at instead. Pietro guessed he shouldn't have told that crude joke afterwards.

He had no regrets, actually.

Luckily, Newell must have gotten enough of the mutant, having gone to the next room to read his newspaper and listen to the ball game over radio.

And having already suffered over the homework he was going to do, Pietro stood, a sneaky smile growing on his face.

"How 'bout we close that door…and have our own party in here?" He was already walking toward to doors of the room. "We already have our own dancing girl and everything."

"If you don't shut your pie hole I'm gonna kick your ass," the jock turned around.

"Oh really." Pietro smirked.

"I get out of this seat, you're toast, bud. You better leave her alone."

Newell reminded that there shouldn't be any talking.

Pietro sneered, sitting back in his seat and the jock turned back around.

"I'm not going to be stuck here any longer because of your sorry ass," the football player muttered.

Pietro ignored it and walked over to a short bookshelf along the wall and climbed atop it, kicking his feet. He wondered where Rainy was and what was taking her so long. He had gotten her to agree to meet him in the classroom, encouraging her that Newell always left the room an hour into detention, so she wouldn't be seen. Of course she had been stubborn about it at first, and Pietro couldn't believe his luck when he cracked that smile and she caved in.

She must truly have nothing else to do—well, he was beginning to think that, believe that, despite the times she's said that herself. He would have thought that a girl like her would have many to hang out with.

He remembered the locket in his pocket.

Why did she want it back so badly?

This thinking and swinging of legs and general quiet of the room lasted for no more than five minutes until the Maximoff grew restless again. Grabbing a book, he flipped through it absentmindedly and realized it was one of the dictionaries, one of the older ones, and he began ripping the pages out.

The jock gave a look between shock and anger. "That's really tough," he commented sarcastically.

Pietro rolled his eyes, shooting back with equal sarcasm, "'cause it's wrong to ruin literature, right." He tore out another several pages. "I think we'll all live. No one's going to miss a few pages in an old dictionary."

The jock gave a look of annoyance now.

"And…" he took a look somewhere in the pages, "'sophagus_ really_ gets me going."

"Sophocles."

The jock and Pietro turned to the new voice in the room. The girl next to the jock looked up too to see Rainy walking into the room, hands in the oversized jacket and marching straight for the speedster.

"Sophocles," Pietro corrected, not looking away from her. And when she stood , he remarked, "took you long enough, Juliet."

Rainy would have snarled. "You have a deal with me, and I'm here to repay my end of it. I'm not here for your entertainment or jokes. One will be enough and I will go straight and tell the whole school your secrets." She spoke to him, she spoke clearly, loud, and without shame.

The jock was at lost for words. She was cutthroat and the speedster hadn't dared utter another word since she spoke.

The girl next to the jock is who spoke up. "Um, who are you?"

Rainy looked at her from the corner of her eye. She turned back to Pietro. "seems like you've been more of a delinquent since I was gone, and it's only been twenty-five minutes." Her voice remained calm. "But then again, what else is different."

This time, Pietro gave her a glare of his own and tore out another page as if to spite her.

Rainy just watched with her straight face as usual.

All four students glared at each other, not knowing whether it was from annoyance or curiosity. Probably both. Across the hall, Newell burst out in a cry as the team he rooted for scored. Rainy had walked right past him earlier.

Hughes tapped a finger on his desk. "I like Sophocles' work—-"

He tried to ease the tension in the room and earned the remained of the dictionary thrown at him.

"No one cares," Pietro spat.

Rainy watched him silently. He jumped down and turned to her.

"Tell me, Juliet, do you like books?"

She thought before answering him. "Do not waste my time, Maximoff," she threatened.

Pietro continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Because if so, I got a proposition for you if you want your little trinket back."

He brought out the golden necklace from his pocket and it caught the eye of the jock and Hughes. Rainy watched it, her eyes flickering wide for a moment.

HOME

MEMORIES

WARM

_GOLDEN_

"It won't be that hard. And if you say yes, I'll give it back."

Rainy looked him in the eye.

He had a smirk of amusement and his head was cocked to the side. He had her right where he wanted.

"How're you going around robbing girls and then making bargains with them, you cheap scum!"

Pietro turned slowly to the boy in the varsity jacket. A snarl was clearly growing on his face.

"Look this doesn't involve you—-"

"It has ever bit my business when you go around being a sick bastard!" The chair screeched as he stood.

In the other room, Newell put his paper down and turned down the radio to eavesdrop.

Pietro was taken aback. "Sick bastard…?!" His eyes widened as it clicked to him what the other meant. He waved the boy off instead and turned back to the brunette. "Hey, so do you read or are you illiterate as well as rude?"

Now, Rainy's bright eyes narrowed. "What is your deal?" she asked, tilting her chin.

"It depends. On how much you like to do that," he looked her in the eyes and for a second, his gaze trailed down, but only for a second, "and write."

Rainy raised her chin. "Fairly well."

"Fairly well? I need good or nothing." Pietro slapped the back of his hand into his other palm.

"It's good, then. Now are you going to tell me now?"

"I need you to write for me—-"

"Fine. It should be easy writing your death note."

Pietro wanted to bristle but held it in. "No… A paper. You are going to do them—all of them—whenever I ask you to. And you can have your necklace back."

There was another prolonged silence of the two measuring out each other and to the relief of everyone else in the room, Rainy gave in.

"Alright." She sighed and Pietro placed the golden necklace in her open hand. Rainy toyed with it in her hands before giving him one final look. "When hell freezes over," she spoke and sprinted.

Pietro was able to follow her only so far down before he was spotted and called by Newell coming out of the other classroom, stopping him in his tracks. Pietro groaned in frustration. Rainy must have not been seen and had turned the corner already because only he was called to return to the classroom. And Pietro had no choice. All he could do was shove his hands in his pockets and grumble about the little liar as he shuffled back inside the detention room for the next hour.


	24. Blazing Bee

_Float like a butterfly_

Younger sister to an older brother in college, Karen Leung is in eighth grade at her local middle school. She is to turn fifteen at the end of July.

Karen has always been a sort of tomboy who enjoyed sports and poking fun at her brother. She was always team-obligated, and didn't shun from being competitive at her school's games meets, one of the ones cheering the most in the stands. She enjoyed talking, her friends, and fighting. Her eyes seemed to possess an aggressive look, but her talents have always seemed better suit for the court. She could fly across the basketball court and earned the team points in record time.

Karen enjoyed fighting too much to fit the normality's standards of feminine but she didn't care. Others wouldn't call her manly, but boyish. This was a running "joke" in her home, her parents saying that she was so manly she could bring home a girl instead of a husband.

In her home, that would be considered a dishonor and insult.

Her parents, Kamon and Mai Leung, both born from immigrants who came from eastern Asia, the Leung household was strict and traditional. Even when Karen announced she had tried out for girls basketball, her parents had been against it. She hadn't even hinted that she was going to try out for the team.

Karen never told the plans; she always revealed the results. Her parents hated it, but her brother knew—he was just too afraid to do it himself or tell Karen's plans. Her brother resented their strictly traditional household just as much as she, and knew without even the spoken words that Karen never told until the deed was committed so her parents couldn't fully object. She never told because by the time she did, it had already been done, and there was no going back then. That is what she had done when signing up for the school's girls' basketball team, that is, after persuasion to try out from her teacher.

Karen was a young girl whose play was a gift. But if you told her, she wouldn't believe it.

_Sting like a bee_

She was sassy, stern, and a jokester. Karen was discovered by her gym teacher one day in class when she had been taunted by some boys. He had noticed her skill, the spring in her jumps, hand-feet-eye coordination. She had been asked to join the team, but knowing her parents, Karen had turned it dow, and spent the next rest of the year watching from the sidelines.

BEE

FAST

FLAME

But she didn't like that. She couldn't have that. Though she respected her parents very much, her need—want—for sports overruled. She was a buzzing bee, full of energy and spirit and couldn't sit still for too long. She wanted something to do besides the usual routine of studying, eating, sleeping and repeat. She needed a purpose. And that day as she watched the team train on the field, pressing her face to the fence, she made her decision.

Though she respected their traditional terms, there was just so much in the world that she was being hindered and wanted to experience, Her parents wanted her to study. Everyday she studied, studied studied, watched her limited tv, ate, and studied. She was embarrassed of bringing her friends over, more in fear of her parents' harsh judgement.

And she hated it. Sometimes she envied her brother how he had managed to getaway. She waited for the day that would be her.

Karen envied the other kids in her grade, those of her ancestry and not, who, whom she guessed, had much more laid back household. Karen envied that.

She wanted that.

But she felt hindered, she felt restricted and a bit trapped. She had good grades, she had few friends, and a loving house, but still she felt trapped. She was constantly being asked what she wanted to do with her life, what she wanted to be.

A doctor.

A sergeant.

A lawyer.

A company owner.

They were all big things that weighed on her. She didn't want to think about it, and hated to. She would have rather travel and get away from it all—she much rather run.

So she joined the track team as well. And she didn't fail there either.

Her coaches were between shocked and proud at her outstanding stamina and performance. She became the school's shining star and her coaches gave the praise she always wanted.

But of course, her parents heard if it, and they were not so pleased. Her father criticized that she wouldn't have enough time to study—even though she had excellent grades. But again, Karen hadn't cared. She didn't speak against him when hd ranted but she didn't do as he wished.

At practice, Karen worked hard. She jumped high and ran as fast as she could until she rolled over on the ground, too exhausted. Her coaches would ask if she was alright and she would stick a fist in the air, imitating triumph.

And then the games came. And Karen almost never saw her parents there unless near the end to pick her up, but again, she didn't care because she was cheered and congratulated by her teammates and that was enough for her. To her parents, however, they didn't even keep eye contact with her. And every game, she called long distance to her brother to tell him the score. She always lied, telling her parents she was calling a friend. Bothe siblings knew the disappointment if her brother being found out that he supported this behavior.

It got to a point that Karen started loosing her place with her high grades, and they began slipping as her play got better. But she held low A's and an occasional high B's, but that wasn't good enough in her eyes. She would crumple the paper and tell herself that she would work harder. She lied to her mother that it must have slipped out her hands.

FIRE

STING

BEE

Toward their winning game was when it happened, when everything came crashing down.

Karen had reapplied a new tampon and she was struggling to get rid of constant acne at the time.

And it had been after school when she was practicing alone, luckily. She had been running on the track the first time it happened and doing hurdles. At the third to last, which she had set up to sprint towards was a day she wouldn't forget. It was hot that day given it was summer and she was sweating buckets in her tank top and basketball shorts. Karen had made a running start for the hurdle and sprinted. As she made a jump for it, there was a smell of burning rubber or the like. Karen tripped up and skidded slightly, turned to see a fire trail where her feet had been. Her shoes were on fire, her ankles down had little flames licking at her skin.

Of course she had panicked, did the stop, drop and roll, and blamed it on the heat. She had sure no one had seen her and decided to go inside to the gym and practice basketball.

It happened there too after a hitting the floor after a slam dunk. Karen had flung her shoes off and found that the small flames were actually emitting from her skin, and as she touched her unharmed ankles, it grew to her fingers and made a line down her arms.

She was amazed and alarmed.

She could burn and turn into fire and not be harmed.

She was a mutant. And her heart stuttered.

_At the end of the year game was when it happened, when everything came crashing down_

The score was winning 12-4 and the HOME team was winning—Karen's team. But of course it would, she was the star player and one of the best n the team.

Everything was going swell, they were dodging opponents left and right, only a few times someone slipped up and the ball when to the other school. But other than that, she was flying between them and the goals kept coming.

And her brother had made it to the gem, thanks to a free week from college. Karen was on cloud 9.

She never told that she was a mutant

She couldn't. Mutants were an abomination, they were disgusting and a mistake. They were less than human, and Karen would be dammed to be associated with them, as one of them. Her life would be over.

She should have thought of that before.

Karen was flying across the court, having a cocky time that they were winning, she didn't notice the spark of her shoes or the marks across the floor until the room went quiet when she was about to take the winning shot.

The room went silent

Karen froze

All eyes on her

Room went

SILENT

Eyes spinning

Horror

Trouble

RED

This wasn't good. No, this wasn't good at all.

Karen paused, still positioned with the basketball in her hands to shoot the winning shot, and everyone in the gymnasium was watching the flames around her shoes and licking up her legs. As the tension and fear grew, the flames licked up her thighs, consuming her legs, turning them into flames and burning her uniform shorts.

She was turning into flames.

Across the court were dark marks where she had slid. She had been jumping and sliding across the gym and marks were evidence where she jumped too high for someone her size or sped up with speed and agility she wasn't supposed to have.

Everyone

IN THE ROOM

Was staring

STARING

RED

HORROR

BLIND

DISGUSTING

WRONG

MUTANT

RED

**WRONG**

Karen was a mutant in a town of normals, discovered as one in her middle school just a state over. It wasn't taken well.

Karen Leung died at fourteen. She was to turn fifteen at the end of July.

Discovered in a world where people hate what's different, she lived a short life. And her family couldn't have it—what she was, what she could do. It mattered no longer what she aspired to become, what she was to become in the future.

Her brother turned away. There was no warmth, no assuring look in his eyes as she looked to him back on the court. There was nothing he could do.

There couldn't be a mutant in their home, a monstrosity.

Karen would have grown up to be a lawyer.

She became page 12 news the next morning instead.


	25. Chapter 20: Baggin'

Wanda still relved in her incident with Troy Baxter last week, and she was absolutely euphoric. The teen hoped that if Spirit Week when well, then _maybe_ she and him could move on to, hopefully, getting a date. She would be overjoyed on the inside, and imagined how a first date between them would go, and if things went well, then the possibility to go further. It was a stretch, Wanda knew, but there was a good probability that it could happen, and just the thought alone made her give a small keen of joy every time.

Last night, Pietro arrived home late much more than usual. It had been around two in the morning and to his luck everyone was asleep. But he knew Marya would give him an earful in the morning or if she was still awake. The house was silent but a light remained on in the living room and as he slowed his pace to open and close the front door softly, he tiptoed passed his aunt asleep in an armchair. He knew she had stayed awake for him and sped to find a spare blanket to lay it over her, covering her bare feet.

Pietro didn't speak to anyone that weekend but stayed in his basement bedroom room.

Wanda did wake the night he snuck in, by some intuition-like feeling that woke her from her sleep. She heard the front door and tiptoed downstairs to see her brother laying a quilt over their sleeping aunt. He merely looked at her as he turned, brows still knitted and hen he vanished and Wanda heard his basement bedroom door close. She immediately got a sullen feeling from him and thought it best to avoid her brother for the rest of the night.

Pietro was surrounded by Hostess snacks and ganja smoke that whole weekend, sneaking out every noon and night to raid a local food joint when the munchies hit.

Wanda nor Marya dared disturb him. The tension from his room could be felt a mile away. The youngest Maximoff was the only one who dared, knocking and talking through the door without any luck.

Pietro was surrounded by Hostess snacks, burger wrappers, smoke, and the realization that he was outsmarted by a spoiled, bossy Joanie all weekend.

The rest of the small family said their blessing that night and ate dinner without the fourth member—Pietro had snuck out by then anyways, knowing that dinner would do nothing for his hunger. Little did they know that late that night when they slept, Pietro snuck out once again, but this time raiding a grocery store on the far side of town and spending the night venting to himself at a local skatepark. The stolen class pin turning between his fingers.

**. . .  
. . .**

The time was now a Monday at Sherbrooke High School,and all the students were back to the hustle and bustle of student life. Wanda was excited and on cloud 9. Meisha, on the other hand, was more quiet than usual.

Meisha moved silently and kept to herself—not like that was unusual for her. She was a weird one and considered a _freak_ to the school—this behavior was no surprise from her. It wasn't expected for her to be as jittery as she was though, and to have her hair in a braided bun.

Meisha kept her eyes to the floor and rubbed her arms in an attempt of self-comfort. Her eyes held a hint of redness around the rims from earlier that morning and her gaze darted around the crowded hallways. Her grip on her schoolbag tightened. She sped ahead, hoping to make it to her classroom as soon as possible. Sherbrooke is a large school and somehow, she was going to get stopped, she just knew—and she did, by Peter calling her from the water fountain and for a second Meisha looked like a deer in headlights.

Peter jogged at normal speed to meet her. He was smiling, per usual, and in a good mood.

Meisha wished she could be as carefree.

She forced a smile.

Pietro was going on again, this time blabbering about something Meisha didn't have the energy or patience to try to decipher. Her eyes drifted over to a point just past his head. It was Mckenzie Shabotz walking with Clarice Wilhelm and another girl a part of their friend group. Meisha almost glared.

"Meisha!" Pietro snapped his fingers in her face.

She jumped, focused back on him and forced another smile to his now questioning one.

"Are you ok? You don't look like you were getting enough sleep—-"

"I'm just tired…" She rubbed her eyes.

Pietro nodded. "For a second there you looked like you were on that good stuff." He chuckled a little to himself. "You look it—you look tired. What's going on with you?"

Meisha shrugged, a slow move in Pietro's rapid mindset. A bitter comment came to her mind but Meisha held it back just before it left her lips and she watched the aforementioned popular girls walk away.

"I just don't feel good," Meisha informed, trying to walk away, lying again.

"You said that already."

"I said I was tired, I thought." She turned to him.

He gave a look that said _duh_. "So? Same thing."

Ronny met with them a moment later. He usually wears a frown of his own that made him look like one of the most miserable students on the planet, something Pietro usually points out and teases. Meisha and Pietro were one of the few who could differentiate Ronny's neutral frowns from when he was truly bothered. All three had known each other long enough, after all.

The three passed the turn that led to where Wanda was, who was gushing over Troy to herself while in a nearby classroom a few popular kids gossiped negatively about it.

"Hey, Ronny," Pietro greeted. "Meisha's been acting weird, you know anything what's up?" He took out a half eaten sandwich and continued eating it. He tried to always keep snacks with him.

Ronny shrugged. Both continued walking behind the redhead but spoke purposely loud so she'd hear and in a manner as if she wasn't there.

"I don't know but her hair's all up. Weird," Ronny spoke about Meisha's large braided bun.

Pietro nodded. "I know." He then elbowed Ronny. "Man, do you think she's on her period?"

"I don't know." Ronny leaned forward. Pietro's stature reached to his nose. "Meisha, are you on your period?"

"No!" She whirled around. Her shout caused several others to stop and glance. "No," she repeated a tad calmer. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone today, guys."

Pietro chewed another bite of his sandwich. "Dude I think she's lying," he whispered to Ronny.

Ronny shushed him and kept quiet himself but neither did as the girl said and followed her further through the crowd of students. They passed Ronny's classroom but he didn't mind. Pietro had a third of his sandwich left when she turned around again, this time catching herself before yelling again.

"Guys…_leave me alone_ for today. _Please_."

Pietro gulped down the rest of his sandwich and Ronny kept his hands in his pockets. His eyes narrowed. "Are you okay, Meisha?"

"I said—-"

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ronny's eyes squinted. "Why do you have your hair up?"

Her hand raised self-consciously to her bun, automatically. "Why…?"

"You never put your hair up—-"

"So?" Pietro interjected, mocking him.

"What I do with my hair is my business," Meisha snapped.

Ronny rocked back on his heels. "Are you _sure_...?"

"Now that you mentioned it," Pietro began, pacing around his friend, much to her annoyance. "There _is_ something different about her…"

Meisha always catered to her hair in a careful manner, for herself as well as for others around her. She braided it to keep it tamed. She always let it hang; to have it up was constricting and was a flag of wary to her. She _never_ put it up, only in a braid or a ponytail for sports that she doesn't do anymore.

Pietro circled her until stopping at her side. Her light brown eyes followed him and when he stopped, she saw them grow wide. The bell rang and Ronny waved in departure. Pietro waved back with another smile but by this time Meisha knew it was fake. He turned back to her stone-faced and serious.

He stepped closer. Meisha unconsciously held her breath, her heart racing.

Pietro grabbed at her hairline above her neck that was practically covered by her large bun, a trick she had hoped to pull off. Evidently she failed. It looked like he grabbed her behind the neck.

"What," Pietro's hand brushed across her red hair in the back, "is _this_?!"

Meisha's heart returned to normal but she couldn't meet her friend's eye. Hers lowered instead.

"It's nothing." Her voice held a certain sternness to it. She hadn't wanted anyone to find out.

"This," there was no denying he felt the cut to her hair now, "is not _nothing_!"

Meisha cut her hair three times since the day she cried alone in her bedroom. Since then, the voice returned twice, the second time more worse to where she felt like she had to clip twice as much.

All along the under-back of her hair, her red hair was grazed unevenly like if a toddler had taken a pair of scissors to it. It was damage Meisha had hoped to keep hidden, and she felt too uncomfortable and unstable to have it loose and down. So a bun was the way to go today. It had worked up to this point.

Students were exiting the halls to their classes. The hall monitors were stepping up their game and no one wanted a ticket.

Pietro removed his hand. "How long ago was this?"

He and Ronny knew about her hair and how sensitive it was, so in his mind, this was the same as self harm. It was exactly the same.

Meisha smacked his hand away. "What do you care?"

"What kind of question is that?!"

Meisha sucked in a breath. Memories flashed of the three of them playing trivia, of the bet he made with Ronny, of hearing him gush about Mckenzie and Rainy... An urge returned, an ugly one that made her want to cause harm and possible blood. It was small and she pushed it aside but still. She never thought she would have it here, to have the voice return at school and much less in front of him.

Meisha felt her eyes water and she turned abruptly and ran down the hallway. If she had her hair loose, it would have attacked him, she just knew.

"Just leave me alone," was her call as she ran to her class, leaving Pietro with the stragglers in the hall.

He threw his hands up. "_What the hell was that?!_"

**. . .  
. . .**

Mr. Moore had been a coach to the school's football team many years ago. Now, the man spent his days retired from sports work and teaching instead as his wrinkles deepened and he came to accept that his hair would never truly grow back. Mr. Moore was also the english teacher that taught Rainy's class in the early afternoon and for today, the class were to listen to the directions of the next major assignment, of a book they would be assigned to read. He had been talking about that book for a week now, but still have yet to show it, and instead, gave out the review assignments on the textbook pages that the students were to complete.

Moore was notorious for giving mediocre work to fill time, and was really the only thing needed to pass the class. Rainy knew it would be a matter of time until there was another big assignment. She just wondered what it would be now—she needed something new to occupy her time with, and watched her pencil twirl around in her hands and wonder when she might have chipped her nail.

"I don't recommend trying to read this in the week before your assignment is due," Moore warned, holding up a paperback book to the class.

And someone snickered.

Rainy's eyes darted in that direction.

"Is something _funny_?" Moore had voice that was both gruff and calm, but that could become a cutting thunderstorm, and that somehow, oddly, complimented his large physique and personality.

Rainy wasn't surprised when he had told that he was a grandfather now, he told near the beginning of the school year.

"Now as I was saying," Moore continued, electric blue eyes sweeping the room. "You're assignment is due on the twenty-eighth. That is over two months away."

Collected groans arose from the students then.

"_But_," Moore interrupted, not finished, "starting tomorrow, we'll be reading it every day you come to class as a way to pass time."

On the other side of the room, Pietro's attention tuned back it.

"So I don't recommend skipping class either. Because even if you have a _doctor's_ _appointment_, you'd better not expect the whole class to _wait_ until you come back or to go back and reread a _whole chapter_ just because you didn't _feel_ like coming to class that day. It's up to you to keep up and catch up on your own time."

Rainy wiggled her pencil between her palms.

"But for today, you're going to do the review questions on page 394 to the short story there." Moore set the small paperback on his desk behind him.

"Can't we have a day to rest before we start that book? You even said so that it was difficult."

Rainy knew it was Sherry who raised her hand and asked that laughable question. She didn't even look up and over at Sherry who sat in the desk diagonal to her.

Mr. Moore forced a smile. "Miss Addams, there are people in the work who would _beg_ to learn to read and get an education." He then told in a discreet, short sentence that what she asked was _idiotic_.

Today's book work was another partner assignment. It wasn't mandatory but several students decided it best to do anyway in order to finish quickly. Sherry, too embarrassed, didn't bother asking Rainy, her face still pink and nose close to the pages of her textbook, as she was far too ashamed. Rainy, however, could go either way and she was two pages into the assigned reading when a chair pulled in front of hers. She didn't look up, knowing the person was turned towards her, and when a boot was raised to rest beside her on her chair, trapping her, she knew just who it was.

Pietro smirked.

Rainy didn't look up.

He watched her read, tried to read her as she underlined a sentence or two with the pencil in her hand, before placing it back down and following the story with a finger under each sentence. He watched an d tried to understand her with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. This was opposite her almost-always cool and collected look—actually there was no difference at all. The look on her face was nothing special, but after seeing how it almost never changed other than a perhaps occasional twitch or involuntary wrinkle of her nose, one could see how monotone she really was. And it frustrated him greatly.

TASTELESS

How could he have been conned by such a boring person?!

The mutant leaned forward to rest his folded elbows in front of her textbook. He opened his mouth and—-

"What?"

She beat him to it.

His jaw snapped shut. "Well—-"

"If you're here to try and intimidate me or bribe me into doing something incredibly stupid again or be wasteful with what that you know is foolish, I already have what I want so the answer is _no _and I'd have no other option that to do off with you."

Pietro's jaw snapped closed again and he scowled.

"There's something called _common courtesy_ when you meet someone and when you two talk, you might have heard of it. It's also how conversations start and _last_. I go, saying something, and then _you_ talk. See, ignoramus?"

This time, Rainy did look up at him but it appeared as a glare. By now, he wasn't sure if her looks were on purpose or not. He noticed the locket dangled above her black shirt beneath her jean jacket and he shifted.

"There is also something that kills those attempts and conversations, such as secrets, hostility, and blackmail," her tone low. "Those are bargains, not conversations. You've got to learn when to spy a conman from a mile away, pitiful Maximoff."

Pietro's brows raised, amused that she remembered his name. "So the girl who has no memory wants to grill me on how _she_ remembers to how to spy a conman?" he teased, then mocked, "it's not like _you'd_ seen one."

Rainy continued looking through the story in the textbook, periodically writing an answer on her paper. "What makes you say that?" she asked calmly, as usual.

"Because someone spitting lies just wants attention. Bad girls should know that stories don't fix their fake personalities."

If Rainy could feel, she would have been offended and scoffed. "And what makes you think that you know everyone?"

"Easy. You're some prissy doll who probably has daddy eating out the palm of your hand."

"Is that it?"

"And you call people beligiment, rusty condoms."

"Wrong." Rainy still didn't look up. "I only said you were jaunty, feet like rocks, and a delinquent. All of that other stuff you said yourself. But if the shoe fits…"

Pietro was fuming. "Yeah but whose to say I won't just take your little trinket back?" He gestured toward the golden heart around her neck.

Rainy looked up and into his eyes. "Then I'll file charges of harassment."

"And if I tell you not to say anything—-"

"A restraining order."

Pietro stared back, scowl deeper and folded arms across his chest again. His goggles fitted firmly on his forehead and ripped jeans showed scarred knees.

Rainy looked off to her side. "Sherry. Is there something you wanted to say?" She knew her friend was listening, since Sherry's pencil stopped moving and she had become still.

After no response and Sherry returning to writing, Rainy added to the boy: "this has been amusing, Maximoff but some of us don't want to stoop low enough to get all friendly with people of your social rank. You specifically, are just troublesome and would have a price on your butt before many others here. I've gotten one of the highest scores on the RET out of ten. I cannot stoop to your level." Her face and tone was so calm yet her words stung.

"Yeah because you have nothing else to do besides study." Pietro spoke this under his breath but loud enough so that she'd hear.

The RET tests were a set of tests students had to take in a certain number of school years that colleges would look at.

Rainy turned to leave but his foot was still in the way. She looked him in the eye and ordered, "move."

"What's it gonna take to get you to agree to me?" A small smirk stretched his lips.

"Like I said: when hell freezes over."

The smirk was gone now. "I'm serious." He drummed a finger on her desk, suddenly becoming quiet. "Listen. You got your necklace back, and I'm just asking a question. Plus you're the smartest girl here, as you said. So no one needs to know about the three math quizzes you've flunked, right?"

He was blackmailing her.

She would have narrowed her eyes. "Who told you that?"

He crossed his arms behind his head. "Well _this_ little freaks has a connection or two. That's all you need to know." He winked. "I can't believe it, math is so easy!" he chuckled, mumbling. "So called smartass…"

"And don't forget that I haven't told anyone," she reminded him of his little secret she kept. "You owe me that much. A deal for a deal." She held up a finger.

Pietro felt a tug at the corners of his mouth. He liked the way she thought. "Alright. Then, in that case, you _owe_ me that bargain I gave in the library."

Rainy's stare was still intense. "No."

"Aw why not? You owe me _that_ much!" he whined.

Rainy's look didn't change.

"What's it gonna take? I just need that one essay! You want me to get down and beg?"

"Well…"

"Forget it I'm not doing that!"

She raised an eyebrow. Students around them were still working on the assignment, many individually, a few in a pair or group. Mr. Moore had put on low music for the class and was minding his own business at the front of the class.

Pietro looked at his own hands and knew Rainy was still staring at him. Who was he kidding? He knew one of the smartest girls here who he seemed to keep running into, and after Wanda told him that she heard of Rainy's failing, he had some leverage.

But really, who was he kidding. He was coming down with no options and he was becoming desperate ever since Marya saw his progress report. If Rainy didn't help him...

"Alright," he ran his hands down his face. "Look, I'm being serious about this. About that deal. I...can you…I need…can you, _please_, uh…"

"Don't strain yourself."

Pietro glared now. "I won't say anything if you get me an A on this essay."

"You've _got_ to be kidding me…" That was it? He was just too pitiful to do it himself?

Pietro knew how important reputation was taken by students and Rainy would refuse to be seen too much with someone of his school social status. But under these circumstances, blackmailing each other, what did they have to lose?

"You've got nothing to do anyway. You know, with you having no…"

"Fine," she cut him off. "Alright, freak." She finished the book work and began packing up, knowing the bell will ring soon. "But there are some regulations that are in need to be established. And don't think I'm doing this out of my own free will."

Pietro grinned a shit-eating smile.

He got in trouble after class for not doing the assignment.

**. . .  
. . .**

It was in science lab the next time Sherry saw the head girls of the popular crowd. She was so disappointed when she found out they would be sharing a class for the whole year and every time she came, Mckenzie and Clarice wouldn't shut up. Today, they sat behind her, since Sherry was assigned a seat towards the back of class. Both bullies were going on and on about Sherry, but in such a nonchalant manner that it passed as casual talk.

"Ugh, I can't see anything behind this bush!" Clarice complained about Sherry's hair she decided to curl this morning. Both girls could, indeed, see perfectly fine over the strawberry blonde.

"I know. It's a mess, isn't it?"

"How could anyone let their self get that way?" There was a small pop behind Sherry. "Oh, by the way, did you hear of that band girl who fell on her face last week? Well, apparently now she was caught _shirtless_ in the locker rooms with _another guy_," the girl snickered.

Both bullies chuckled cruelly and Sherry stared miserably towards the teacher at the front of the room, doing her best to take notes.

"Ugh, I can't stand this teacher. I just wanna snatch that wig right off her head. It's so ugly. Can't understand a single word she's saying either."

"Me either," Clarice agreed.

"Well maybe if you shut your pie holes for a single minute, you might actually learn something," Sherry hissed, not daring meet them face to face.

A beat of silent passed.

"Um, who asked you?"

"Why don't you shut up when people aren't talking to you because no one cares about what you have to say." Mckenzie then spoke about how she and Clarice were trying to understand what the teacher was teaching.

Sherry gaped, turning around. "You don't care what the teacher says! You just said so!"

"What do _you_ know?" Clarice scoffed.

"I think she's trying to prove she's smarter than us," Mckenzie added. "You remember that they even did tests and monkeys can never be as smart as people?"

Sherry stared at the front of the classroom, heartbeat going a mile a minute and adrenaline starting to flow from anger.

"Oh yeah, I remember that!" Clarice turned to Sherry, trying to get in her face. "You hear that, _monkey_? You better listen to us or you won't be getting any bananas today." She smiled deviously.

"Yeah, we might just lock you back in your cage where you belong."

That day, Sherry was sent to the dean's office due to a loud outburst in class. The teacher had written her up for disturbance and when Sherry arrived, her eyes were flowing from tears of rage. She explained her story, her referral was waved.

_Suck it up, they're just words_, they said.

_Sticks and stones will break my bones  
but names will "never" hurt me_

Sherry was usually an optimistic person. That did nothing to calm her anger.


	26. This was an author's note

This was an author's note I wrote when I lost motivation to continue this story. I wasn't going to continue writing a story that I wasn't sure people were even reading and not just adding it their alerts to get back to later. I didn't know if anyone was even reading this anymore because that's what reviews are basically. They tell if people like/dislike a story and spur the writer to create more as motivation. No reviews equal little to not likely the writer will ever get back to that story. And I'm not going to continue adding on to a story without an audience. That is what I had said in the author's note. I still stand by it all.


	27. Chapter 21: Icy

**_A/N: I didn't really think people cared tbh. But ok, I guess I'll continue this? There's still quite a bit to go, and with X-Men:Apocalypse coming out, I might have to change a few things planned for this story. It might also being a book longer than I planned._**

**_And I'm past the twentieth chapter!? I've never even gotten to twenty before with any story. Wow._**

* * *

It was Wednesday and Mr. Moore sat on his desk reading from small paperback book to the class. The students were following along for the most part. Others passed along notes in-between the teacher's glances. Those by the windows glanced outside, witnessing a nerd being bullied by two male baseball players. A good third of the class was not paying attention, actually. It wasn't their fault _Great Expectations_ did not grab their attention and that Spirit Week was almost here.

Pietro swung his legs rapidly under his desk. His chin laid on his folded arms and the book was still opened in front of him. He wasn't paying attention either, Mr. Moore's voice going at a pace too slow for his interest and drifted over his head.

Pietro had trouble concentrating when it came to books, especially if someone was reading it to him.

When he was younger, Marya used to read to him and Wanda. He always had trouble concentrating and never was able to sit still. Unfortunately, when his powers came in, so did the story times. The world passed by at such a slow pace to him, that sometimes he just _couldn't_ listen.

It's not like he could tell the teacher that, though.

Pietro glared ahead at the head of brown hair seated in front of him.

Pietro was definitely still upset, and try as he might, his glare didn't burn into Rainy's back no matter how much intensity he applied. Well, she _would_ have felt it, if she _could_ feel it.

Pietro wondered if he kicked his feet far enough... Maybe somehow if he got her attention, she would see him...

Rainy was following along the teacher's voice, finger following under each line he spoke. To her, this was merely a past time, not something she necessarily enjoyed.

Pietro glared holes in the back of her jean jacket.

_"What's the deal with you and that Rainy girl?"_

_"What do you know about that," Pietro all but glared at his twin over his shoulder._

_Wanda gave him a look and he wasn't expecting an answer anyway._

_He didn't want to know how she knew exactly._

_Wanda knows all your secrets, all the things you try to hide, all your dreams late at night_

_But it's not like she would tell you_

_Wanda pulled a paper out of her bag. "Is this what you were wanting?" It was a graded math test, with a large 46 written in red at the top_—_Rainy's_

MAGIC

_He grinned. "Perfect."_

Pietro kicked his feet under his desk, Moore's voice drifting over his head, and remembered the stolen math test stuffed somewhere in his backpack. He continued glaring daggers at the girl in front of him.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Earlier that day he confronted Rainy again. And she had brushed him off, giving the same angry glare and fire that spat from her lips.

But Pietro was determined. He hadn't felt betrayed by her lies; he felt like he didn't get his share. Really, this was one of the few times he was tricked out of his own con, and he was taking it bitterly.

"Give me one good reason why I would help someone like you?" Rainy's questioned.

She always held a stare so steady it sometimes set him on edge.

She then leaned into her left hand, sighing. "I should have you taken care of you after all..."

She knew people, Pietro was already aware. She knew those on the basketball team, the star football player, and Rainy was quite popular herself. It wouldn't be a problem to make his life even more of a living hell. Her father held a high and very influencing position too, and yet...

And yet Pietro continued.

He knew too much, Rainy knew; he knew. She had given it away anyway, long ago.

FLASHBACK

_It was three months ago Rainy gave him her most tightly kept secret_

PRECISE

BLUNT

CUTTER

_blurted it out _

_in poor calculation_

_Rainy Capulet_

Pietro knew way too much about her and he knew that there was nothing she could do about it. He had this as sort of leverage against her.

He knew that she would do nothing

He had used that, leaning over her shoulder and threatened in her ear as the teacher read aloud back in the classroom. He had gotten called on for it, of course, but he hadn't cared. He merely smiled at his discipline.

Spirit Week would be here in a few weeks and everyone was prepping for it. Apparently there was going to be a party at Clarice's current boyfriend's house that week too.

Everyone was excited for it. The walls were decorated in the school's colors. Students were starting to wear their school T-shirts and merchandise now. And Rainy had been no exception, Sherry and Michelle taking charge of her wardrobe now.

Wanda would walk in the hallway to her next class or locker and exchange small smiles with Troy. She would smile and a blush would creep up her neck, and Pietro would watch with narrowed eyes. This smile—was something that was rarely seen on his other sibling, and knowing the others that went to this school, it probably wouldn't end that way.

Even at home, Pietro could tell that there was a noticeable change in his sister's behavior—he caught it way before Marya did but didn't say anything about it. Wanda's mood was improving positively and that was something not displayed in a long time. Usually she would hole herself up in her room, red hood drawn over her head during the day and spoke in shy mumbles. Negative vibes would seep from her and she always handled herself awkwardly in public, never sure.

But as Pietro sat on the living room carpet, letting his younger sister wrap as many ponytails as she could in his hair and the television playing the daily soap opera episode, he noticed when Wanda walked in the door and the mood didn't drop as they were so used to.

She hasn't had any accidents either—not like she usually did with her powers—but Pietro didn't know if Wanda was just getting better at hiding her abilities or she was just getting better at controlling it. He wanted to ask her but didn't. He wasn't sure if he should.

Wanda wouldn't have known the answer herself.

But lately Wanda was getting better, and Pietro took this opportunity to ask his sister for a small favor. At the end of last week, he had asked her with a wide, mischievous smirk, one that Wanda has seen multiple times and knew it was a sign that he was up to no good.

That favor is how he got a hold of Rainy's failed test. Which is what he had waved in front of her face after following her to a library after school. And is what made her eyes look from the paper to his cheeky grin.

"How'd you get that?"

Pietro's smirk was troublesome. "I have my ways," was all he gave. "You don't get to make the demands this time. It's all me," pointed his finger to him and then his thumb to his chest. "Alright, Juliet?"

He and Wanda have attained many skills before their abilities emerged, and pickpocketing was one of their best.

Marya too could con a man out of his lifesavings in ten minutes or less if she wanted. Making fake IDs, knowing how to bargain the manager of the local food mart—thanks to Pietro's misdemeanors—and how to get a small child to stop crying by threatening privileges and sweets were a few of her other skills obtained over the years.

Pietro showing he had stolen Rainy's failed math test is the reason they were in the library today. Rainy had refused to sit next to him and so both were sitting back to back at separate tables. Rainy had the current book she was on, open and communicating without lifting her eyes from the pages. Only now, when he had shown her test did she turn around. And Pietro was was growing irritated as the minutes passed by.

Rainy had refused to be seen talking with him, not wanting to be spotted by an associate from school while near him. That would only lead to a downward slope, she had given him the unnecessary explanation earlier when she still wouldn't look him in the eye.

"To be seen with someone like you would put a scar on my reputation. 'Rainy seen with silver-haired loser," she held out her hands, imitating reading the phrase on a billboard. "Just because I don't go around putting myself willingly out to the public, you mistake that I'd actually take my time to speak to just anyone that shows up?" It was less of a question.

"Don't you? That's what you did to me."

Not exactly what she meant

"I recall. And it's so unfortunate." Rainy placed her book face down and leaned her head back, her brown hair hanging over the back of the chair and she caught his gaze. "I can see that you trust too much, Maximoff."

Pietro was confused.

"Given that you even came back proves my answer. If you truly didn't believe that I was going to help you, then you wouldn't even be here, knowing that I'd just forget about it and that I was merely using that as a diversion. But since you are here sitting right now, shows that you really do trust everyone, and that's a terrible flaw to have. And that you're still here proves how desperate you are."

Well that didn't burn at all.

He shrugged. "So yeah? I'm kinda desperate. Kinda. Not really. So what? But don't you _dare_ get the wrong idea, chick. Don't forget who's holding the upper hand here."

Her look of course was calm and unimpressed. "Kinda..." Rainy repeated the word slowly as if tasting it. "Do you trust everyone so easily? Is that why you go around so freely, throwing yourself out there for everyone?"

She looked over from the corner of her eye. There was a librarian loading books into a cart. She was quite pretty and had her brown hair in a short cut. Rainy wondered to herself why Pietro didn't go and bother that woman instead. She was obviously pretty enough for attention.

Rainy's response made Pietro pause for a moment. To be honest, he never thought about that before. "Why're you making it sound like I'm some kind of whore?"

Rainy raised a hand to her mouth, feigning surprise. "Are you not?"

Pietro hissed and Rainy turned her cheek the other way. She would have laughed.

"That was a joke."

"You're terrible at jokes. All of them are terrible."

She shrugged. "Well that's a given." She then raised to her knees in the wooden chair and turned fully around, facing him. Her hand darted out for his hair. "Do not take me for a fool, Maximoff. I am not doing this out of my own free will. I am not here sitting with you right now because I absolutely want to. I would rather lower myself in a tank full of sharks than be here with someone of your status. Every second the clock ticks is another second that I could be using my time for things elsewhere. Just because I made the mistake of telling you my private detail those months ago means nothing. Make sure I am not wasting my time. I am not someone you want to go around socializing with, Maximoff."

Her eyes blazed

His vision spun

How can she turn so quickly?

"Why not?"

"That is nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"So you speak something that somehow makes you some bad guy, and you won't say _how_? That's not how it works, babe, that's not how _any_ of this works! We had a deal, see? And the best you can do is say _why_. Just because you're some kind of popular girl at school doesn't mean—-"

"I am not someone you should socialize with," she repeated. "So do not take my kindness for invitation for your problematic lifestyle. If you so much as try to, I'll just have to finish that slice across your mouth I was planning to make."

Pietro's tongue ran over the now-healed cut at the corner of his lips. She didn't know it, but Rainy would never be quick enough to actually accomplish that threat.

His eyes narrowed further. "Is that a threat?"

"A threat is relative. Such as someone is pointing a gun at your head," Rainy held her index finger in the direction to his forehead, imitating the weapon. "Or that you didn't like a someone's comment and took it the wrong way upon yourself, whining to your mother like some illigitament bastard baby. In many ways threats're like someone calling wolf—have you ever thought of that? It's a pitiful cry made for desperate attention." She looked at him, not a muscle showing emotion.

BLINK

"Are you desperate for attention too, Maximoff? Is that why you're here?"

Pietro hesitate, so many words and answers running through his brain but none that seemed like the right thing to say, so he held his tongue.

BLINK

"Tell the truth—why are you here? It's obvious that someone like you doesn't enjoy the time you spend with me. We aren't comparable. A freak and—well…someone like me..."

STARE

"Is it not true that you came to me, hoping in some way that you could use me to your advantage and have a better face in school?" she continued.

Well, that was partially true, but...

"I did not take you for a complete fool, Maximoff. Well I hoped that you weren't. I prefer not to waste my time on idiots. But pulling a move like that just might actually prove my suspicions wrong for once."

"I don't give a damn about your suspicions, you icy betty. I only came for one thing and you know it."

An elderly man nearby over heard the boy's harsh whisper and gave Pietro a dirty look.

Pietro was persistent as always, telling that he was here only for her to keep up her end of the bargain since he kept his "fairly," and nothing more. Of course, that too was partially a lie.

Rainy barked a laugh. It was dry and fake and the old man nearby looked up, concerned.

"Now I'm gonna ask you again." Pietro waved the test in her face. "I can either let everyone at school know the failure you really are behind your lies, or—-"

"Or I help you with writing some essay, right?"

Pietro expected her to be angry, to have a frustrated look, _something_. But Rainy just sat there, turned toward him in the wooden chair, staring with such a calm exterior that he began questioning her sanity once more. He leaned back in his seat.

"Well I suppose… It shouldn't be _too_ hard, for some like _you_… Say you just scribble me up something good, yeah?"

Rainy stared. "It's not going to be that easy—-"

"Ah!" Pietro held up a finger. "Just get it done, yeah?"

"...Funny how you say _I'm_ the failure here when you can't even so much as put together a convincing argument," she added.

"Arguing isn't everything."

"Yes, because you're so clever and charming." Somehow bitterness still seeped in her voice, but it hadn't been her fault. Then she outstretched her hand, her fingers curled in and out from her palm. "Let me see it."

Pietro's eyes darted from her to the paper in his hand. "Why?" he asked.

She persisted and he eventually handed the paper to her just the same.

He watched Rainy, expecting her to make another run. And honestly, she did consider it but saw another opportunity instead.

"If I help you with this paper, it's the only way it seems to get you out of my hair, correct?" He watched her fingers tap along the back of the paper, listing to the sound it made in the quiet library. "So," she started slowly, "what will I be getting out of this if I agree?"

He gaped. "What do you mean 'what will you get'?"

"Oh goodness. If you're hard of hearing as you are about using your brain, this may be a real problem after all…" She leaned on a fist propped on the desk.

"I can hear _just_ _fine_, thanks," he spat. "You already got your half of the bargain alright." His finger pointed, accusing.

"Which is…"

"You write this paper in exchange for that necklace I gave back to you!"

"Which you stole from me?"

Pietro drew his finger back slowly. "Huh?"

"You stole my necklace when you were in detention. Did you honestly try to trick me?"

Dammit! How could he forget?! He wanted to slap himself.

"Ok, now listen. Since there is no more leverage available for any of us."

Besides her failure

Rainy shrugged. "And I honestly don't care whether you show that test around or not. They're just going to suggest you forged it."

Well…that might be true...

"'ll help you write a high grading essay, _only_ if I get one request from you."

Pietro frowned. "And what is that? You're not going to ask me to chop off my hand too so you can have it are you? No matter what you say, I still find use in it. You can't be that evil and cruel are you? And I'm _not_ dancing either. I'm not really feeling this whole ordeal honestly..."

Rainy smirked—or tried to. "I'll let you know of my request when the time comes."

She had managed to lead the mutant on and was free for now. She made a schedule to meet with him, writing it on his arm with a scavenged pen. They were to meet again, but soon her father had a speaking to attend to. At school, both would continue to ignore the other.

She didn't necessarily dislike Pietro, but his insisting was something she would not choose to listen to every weekday. And now, she would have to persist through even more.

* * *

**_A/N: I didn't know if I was writing Pietro right or not. I didn't want him to be some softy that was just someone Rainy can insult whenever she wanted and wanted him to be kinda like a jerk. I don't feel I'm showing that enough._**

**_Yeah I know nothing really is happening yet because there's going to be more interacting with these two. But I won't forget about the others. I can't really tbh with what is coming. I hope I didn't make this chapter too bad._**

**_And I'm still very serious about my last A/N about reviewing please._**


	28. Chapter 22: Intermission III

**_A/N: I'm glad you liked it, Miss Sleepless. There's much more to come after this chapter._**

* * *

"Chin up. Straighten out your dress skirt. _Don't touch your hair!_"

Rainy slowly lowered her arm, staring at her mother who backed away with arms outstretched as if her daughter were to fall over and disappear at any moment. Rainy stood before her mother that had dressed her, her standing in a formal dress, pantyhoes, and a frown on her face. Her mother then put a nail between her teeth, smiling and admiring her handiwork.

"Just like that. Stay _just. _Like_. That_." She then took in her daughter's expression. "Oh, smile for once!"

Rainy didn't, and he wasn't going to try to, knowing it would be noticed as fake. It wasn't that she didn't like the outfit—she felt indifferent to it. "You still smell like dope, Mom."

The woman's brows raised. "Really? I haven't lit one since last night. I thought that spray would have got rid of it by now…" The last part was spoken in a mumble.

Her husband needed her in her right mind today, so Donna Capulet wasn't going to touch the substance if it jeopardized her life or family. And right now, it did.

Donna was a good mother—she cared for her husband and her daughter greatly. She was a happy young mother who showered her daughter in hugs and love, albeit sometimes with a thin joint in her mouth. But she cared—that much was true and obvious.

But to Rainy, her mother's actions were…questionable.

"Did you get your clothes from that room?"

Her mother thought before answering, "yes."

"Try some of that perfume on your dresser."

"'K," her mother answered, smiling like a child and twirling to the door. She paused. "But first, have you seen your father; do you know if he's almost ready?"

Rainy shook her head and turned to leave instead.

Her father was to attend some kind of meeting today, and for reasons Rainy never cared to listen for, she and her mother were to go with him. Maybe it was for a face count or just to make her father feel better or to make it appear they were one normal and happy family. Either way, she knew that the meeting—if that's even what it was—regarded policies and other government things that is needed for a mayor election or another.

Rainy found her father standing in front of the long mirror in her parents' bedroom. He was already dressed in a suit and polished shoes, she saw, peering around the corner. He was looking in the mirror, adjusting his cufflinks, and a wide grin on his face. She's seen that look many times, and he only wore it whenever he was to attend to any other mayor-duties or when he was getting dressed to leave the house. He would leave the house either with other men with stale atmosphere or to mean with a voice he hushed to over the phone. And Rainy would stay in her room or in her own way. She didn't poke her nose where it didn't belong, having done that before and receiving dire consequences.

When Mr. Capulet noticed his daughter in the doorway, he spun around. He was starting to wear that same stale grin that so many others dressed in suits did.

"What do you think?" he asked, liking his look.

He was excited

Rainy pretended to look is attire over. "Looks clean."

"That's not what I meant. I look nice, right?" He chuckled.

"Yes, you do look nice."

Rainy knew her tone was monotone and was what wiped the grin from her father's face. He took a step forward and was preparing to question her on her flat attitude when his attention diverted to something above Rainy's head. She had heard her mother's footsteps stop to stand behind her. And then there was a growl—it was a mock animal growl directed towards her father.

"You look _hot~_!" Rainy's mother walked up to her husband, flipping his tie.

He placed his thumbs in his pockets, smiling down at his wife trailing her hand from his chest as she wrapped her arms around him from behind. They both stared at their reflections, Donna peeking from behind his side. All Rainy could see were their backs as her mother's arms lowered, looping her thumbs around his belt and her husband biting his lip.

"..._Absolutely_ _scrumptious_!" Rainy's mother growled.

Rainy frowned. _Who says "scrumptious" anymore?_

The clock hanging in the living room ticked. It was to be 12 in the evening not too soon.

Rainy turned from her parents' bedroom after hearing her father chuckle at her mother's poor suductivity. Her mother planted wet kisses and her giggles were heard out into the hallway.

Rainy left to her room and waited for them to finish dressing.

_**. **_

A woman carrying a clipboard motioned the Capulet family forward. Rainy's mother nodded to her daughter as a signal to do as was signaled and all three followed the woman down a hall. Portraits of passed people who held positions of power lined the walls, and a few framed flags. Rainy looked form them to the path ahead.

The woman had smiled when greeting them. Rainy didn't care for it, her father smiled widely in return, and her mother kept a stern face.

This woman had gotten them already, and led them from the main lobby and down a polished hallway. Her heels were the loudest, echoing off the flooring—or maybe that was just the echo of the hallway. Her shoes had Rainy's attention and she was counting the woman's steps as conversation passed between the adults.

The woman spoke to her father, telling him that there were people waiting to talk to him in a next room, and Rainy's mother raised her daughter's chin with her forefinger, getting her attention as they came to the point of destination. Rainy did as she was told.

They came to stop in front of a pair of double doors. "Now, don't say anything that doesn't pertain to your campaign. They will try to suck any and everything out of you, so don't lose your cool. They're like record players—say one wrong thing and you will never hear the end of it. And it will be the end of you, your family, and your campaign. All of us are riding on you, so don't screw this up."

Her father just kept this sly smile, listening to his assistant, watching her straighten his suit and tie. "I think I know how to do this by now."

Rainy's mother's hand rested on her daughter's shoulder, and Rainy couldn't feel her mother's squeeze. But she didn't need to look up to know the hard look her mother had.

"Alright then. Go get those vultures." Debroah, as the woman's name tag read, took a steadying breath. She mentally prepared for the bombarding of camera flashes and rising voices. "Get ready in three..." Deborah placed her hands on the door handles. "Two… One…"

The room wasn't big, just the size to hold a small conference and was lined with rows of red chairs. But as soon as they entered, the rows that were occupied by photographers and journalists emptied as the people stood, their voices blending together in a babble.

Rainy's mother held her closer, shielding her daughter as the family made it to the small stage where they took their seats and her father stepped up to the podium.

In the back, Deborah watched, hands crossed in front of her, watching him intently. She hoped he didn't mess this up. Mr. Capulet was confident and eloquent and he had all of this together. He wouldn't fail but still Deborah was nervous.

A photographer aimed his camera and flashed the stage. Rainy blinked rapidly, the light causing stars in her eyes. One woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd and with a loud voice, asked the first coherent question.

This is something Rainy's used to now. The crowds, the reporters, the constant meetings, Rainy was all numb to it by now—in more ways than one. She felt indifferent to it, and followed without conflict. Hher mother ordered her to not crinkle her dress. It wasn't like there was much to do other than analyze and observe each demanding, shouting journalist.

Her mother's hand on her shoulder did nothing for Rainy. And she watched with a calm, straight face as her father answered concerns regarding the school board, the job wages, and the public safety. He proclaimed that a recreation will be built for the insane, taking them from the jails and therefore opening up jobs. He proposed more forces be placed toward education and school, upping teacher's wages. He professed that he is for more safety and protection for the people. That is when he ordered Rainy to csome and stand beside him, and he told that story again:

"When my daughter was just three years old, she was almost taken away from us." He held Rainy under his right arm, the other animated as he spoke.

Rainy's face remained emotionless.

"She was out playing at a local park in our old town and a stranger approached her. A peculiar fellow, all mysterious and obvious with a trench coat and hat. A mutant. You see…" He started choking up and Rainy knowing it was all for show. "He wanted to kidnapped our daughter we thought at first. My wife was too far away… And then we found out it was a mutant—when this long appendage…when this _monstrous_ _tail_ came out from under his jacket and aimed it at my daughter's face..." He swallowed, feigning tears. "She was immediately rushed to the hospital and we feared we would have _lost_ our daughter that day…"

He hugged Rainy to his side.

"And I _will_ work to make sure that _never_ happens to another innocent child again. That panic is something _no_ parents should have to endure. And one of the things I will make sure of—I _promise_ that I will do _whatever_ _is_ _in_ _my_ _power_ to prevent things like that from happening again!" He used this to support more security and schools and work places.

Rainy looked at her father from the corner of her eye. He wouldn't say it directly but anyone knew what he meant, and Rainy knew the truth despite the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

_No more mutants_

Mr. Capulet would eventually make his closing and photographers would snap photos of him and his family in his arms. His quotes would appear in the papers the following week, and Rainy would stand, stone-faced, it all passing by in a blur.

She didn't care, she wouldn't care about her father's thoughts, even though most of them were false.

She would go back to standing next to her mother who would wrap her arm around her daughter's shoulders again and give Deborah a suspicious look as they left.

And at home, Rainy didn't care. She let her father continue lying to the public. She wouldn't question him why he repeated that made-up tale about her potential kidnappingp and why her mother was in on it—she couldn't nayways.

She would sit in her room and attempt to built a structure either out of Legos or tying pencils together. Her father was running for town mayor and Rainy didn't care much about him or his thoughts or wellbeing.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Ronny leaned against the bare wall in his room.

The house walls were thin and from his bedroom he could hear his parents yet again. He guessed it was from their bedroom they were arguing since the voices were faint and sounded to be on the other side of the house. A clunk sound echoed down his way along with their noise and his mother's shrill tone that raised above his father's.

Ronny was seated on the floor in his room and his back slumped, face pressing against the paint of the wall. His mouth was slacked open and though there was no reddening of his complexion, his body felt like he was in one-hundred degree weather. He was unbearably hot but didn't want to risk stepping outside his room in case he ran into his parents. It was always best to give them time and air to cool down after another one of their fusses.

Speaking of cooling down...

Ronny had tried using a magazine as a fan but that hadn't worked much. He had drawn his curtains closed after arriving in his room but apparently that hadn't done much good and he was sweating terribly on his bedroom floor. The heat remained in his room, turning it into a shirt and pants were thrown somewhere on his floor and he was down to his underwear and was still no cooler.

When he arrived back home earlier that day, he walked in on his mother been tidying up his room. She has been doing things as such that increasingly now. She claimed that she "just wanted to take care of him," but Ronny has been shooing her away more and more. His father hadn't been in the best mood when he waled int he door and the air around Ronny's mother quickly changed.

She had the curtains opened for some time, he guessed after his mother finally left his room, because when he came in, his room was noticeably warmer than the weather outside. She had complained about how dark his room was and had them opened when she decided to clean his room.

Outside was very humid and the boy was eager to escape the heat, only to find his room was even worse.

Ronny shooed his mother away from smothering his yet again and that's when his father arrived, and the air changed. Ronny turned from his voyage to the kitchen and hid around the corner.

The arguing had begun soon after that, his mother complaining about his father's lack of contribution and the trash that still hadn't been taken out.

Ronny inched from around the corner and offering to take it out and already walking toward the trash bin. His father had yelled at him, and without another word, Ronny turned on his heels and locked his bedroom door.

Now he sat, hungry and sweating like a dog in his room while he was too afraid to be yelled at by his parents.

_Why was his room so hot?_

Ronny gasped as if it would help, wishing there was more than this humid air. He could feel beads of sweat rolling down his neck.

This arguing, fighting, and tension between his parents has been going on for years now. The clearest he could recall his family being calm and happy was before they moved here when he was very young.

Ronny used to blame this place for making his parents mad and unhappy. But now he knew better. He knew it was something he probably couldn't have helped and knew the possible outcome that was to come. He thought about it whenever this happened, whenever they yelled where they thought he couldn't hear and things cluncked against the walls. He thought about it a lot.

INNOCENCE

HATRED

He hated this.

He could hear his father's voice rising now, overpowering his mother's.

Ronny frowned, the emotions getting to him. And he hated this.

He drew his curtains closed long ago but his room was still unbearable.

He pushed off from the wall, sitting up properly. His eyes glared at a random point and sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades. He growled.

HEAT

HATRED

Why was he the one who had to suffer from this, like this? He knew his parents were beginning to hate each other—had been hating each other for years and did a terrible job of hiding it. But why him? Why did he have to suffer like this?

Ronny sat back against the wall, bare feet spread out in front of him and sweat rolling down his arms. He growled. His concentration was on one of his lava lamps and didn't register the noise he had made.

HATRED

DARK

This room felt like a sauna to him, the temperature steadily rising. And with ever minute that ticked by—it being almost almost two hours now—the heat was getting to him.

He was glaring now at some point across his room with a that would have frightened his mother.

RED

The voices of his parents were dying down now but he hadn't paid attention. This room was unbelievably hot, and _why did he have to go through all this_?

Sweat gathered over his brow. A hot feeling was growing in his stomach and his glare intensified. He squared his shoulders.

It wasn't fair.

RED

Ronny's neck rolled a little to the side, the frightening glare still directed to his lamp. He groaned, it sounding less human, and his head dropped an inch.

He was panting too. And as the minutes ticked by, he had a look that would have made Pietro uneasy. He slumped forward, panting heavily, and groaned. His mouth opened, hoping to somehow cool his body temperature. Ronny's eyes had changed to a bright brown that was close to amber, and his jaw slacked open, baring his teeth.

RED

He lost count of how long he had trapped himself in his room.

The noises of his parents had died and remained unregistered in his mind. Ronny sat panting and slumped against his wall until, caused by some thought in her mind to come, his mother barged into his room. The sudden motion of the door flying snapped him out of his daze and he turned, shocked and doe-eyed to his mother's concerned look.

_SNAP_

He was back to normal.

He mother paused as she entered his room, catching her son in his dark room. She questioned why he was sweating so much, whether he had taken drugs or if he was sick.

Ronny was still shocked from her suddenly snapping him back to reality.

She didn't believe him when he told her him room was just too hot.

"No it's not. Well maybe just a slight bit from the rest of the house…" she mused. "I haven't turned the thermostat from 72. There's no reason for you to be sweating like that!"

Ronny began to stand, scavenging for his shirt, and saying he was just going to go out into the living room for a while. His mother didn't allow him.

"You're going to the doctor's," she grabbed his arm, pulling him from picking his pants from the carpet. "You're sick, I just know it."

Ronny held in his groan.

His mother insisted. She went on about how he had always gotten sick easily ever since he was young. She blamed it on poor immune system. She rambled on and on, and Ronny knew that was just her way of letting off steam.

She said that he was sick but oh, how she was wrong. She was very, very wrong.

* * *

**_A/N: I just don't know if I'm updating too quickly, too slowly, or if it even is only me. I simply don't know. And yeah, I know this didn't have any Rainy/Pietro interaction because I planned for these details shown to come up in coming chapters. _**


	29. Chapter 23: Hate or Bad Intentions

Wanda clutched the book to her chest, red jacket zipped up to her shirt's collar.

The halls of Sherbrooke High were crowded as usual and she had her eyes open for any bullies, for those she might have to avoid. But she also had an eye out for Troy—she always had an eye out for Troy. Neither Marya nor her brother knew about her crush, Wanda still too shy to even hint about it, and feared the laughter she would receive from him about it.

Wanda was walking alone in the school hallway, so she had a slight jump when there was a bump to her shoulder. It was only her brother coming up to walk beside her, one hand in his pocket, the other around the apple he bit into.

Wanda quickened her pace.

"Pietro! You shouldn't be here," she hissed. "They might start talking again."

She meant those whose liked to talk negatively about him. It wasn't unknown of Pietro's school social status, and secretly Wanda didn't want to attract that onto her, not when she was so close to being with one of the top ball players. She hadn't seen the populars that liked to talk yet but that didn't mean they weren't close by.

"Oh shut up. I'm not going to interfere with you and _Troy_." He casually bit into his apple.

Wanda stammered. _How did he know about that?_ She thought she'd been careful to hide any hints back at home.

"Don't worry about that," he answered around another bite. Really, he could just read Wanda like a book. "Besides," he chewed, swallowed. "I'm here for other plans, bigger people."

"Someone more important than your ego? Oh, who might be the _"fortunate"_ soul this time?" Her voice sour, comment dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes!" His finger pointing at her, still holding his fruit. "Haha. But you're still not funny. And it's more _personal_ business."

As they passed, he side eyed a boy in glasses at a locker. Pietro's death glare wasn't seen directly by the other and he and his sister didn't stop walking.

"Remember that when you need me to bail you out of trouble again," she warned. "And personal business like when you got caught on the bars surrounding that pool that summer?"

"That was one time!"

One summer, when hormones were raging, Pietro had snuck to a nearby pool against Marya's orders. And while doing peeping tom at the girls in swimming wear and wanting a closer look-see, his shirt got caught on the points at the top of the gate when he tried to climb over. By chance, his sister found him. Wanda was the only one he could put aside his pride and accept help from though she couldn't keep a straight face while using her powers to lift him down.

"The bars aren't even that sharp at the top…" she carried on in a sigh.

She remembers his clothes being ripped and him begging her to help him fix it so Marya wouldn't find out.

Now if you were to go back to the pool, they had put up a new fence, one with metal bars much closer together. To this day, she wouldn't let him forget that, or the other times she's helped him out of a jam.

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I have other things to get to besides your _girly_ _crush_." He waved to his sister, leaving and beeline-ing to a pair of girls in the hallway.

Wanda only shook her head, sighing, and carried on to her classes before she could be called out by those girls. She, like many others in the school, didn't like the populars and couldn't understand why her brother would spend so much time around them.

Pietro sauntered over to the small group of students. It was a boy leaning over Mckenzie that nudged her shoulder, motioning to the coming mutant with a smirk, and Mckenzie's face immediately fell. The others around her started snickering—they all knew how Pietro had gotten her in trouble and the bargain he wanted from her. It was completely shameful to have a weirdo who thought they held so much authority come to you like that, _for_ that.

"What do _you_ want," Mckenzie spat.

Pietro just kept that snarky look and wormed his way in-between Mckenzie and the boy she had been flirting with. Pietro turned to her, leaned against the wall, trying to look cool in his black letterman.

"Hey sweet cheeks. What's say you, me, night out on the street, yeah? Or a little driver thru?"

Mckenzie stared incredulously. Who did this outcast think he was? Her frown returned when her friends started snickering louder.

"How about I'd rather cut my own hand off instead," she responded, honestly not interested.

But Pietro was persistent, he always was. "That can be arranged. You won't need it anyways when with me," he joked, and then pulled her closer with an arm. "You know, they say I'm a snake in the sheets."

He pulled Mckenzie close, much to her dismay and her face reddened, knowing the guy she _was_ interested in, was watching. Pietro went in to whisper in her ear, and out of the corner of his eyes, saw Rainy walking alongside a girl with an afro in the crowd. Rainy wasn't paying attention to anything else except her path as usual, and yet Pietro's grip slackened.

That had all been in a second's beat, and then Mckenzie slapped his arms away. He stared back with wide eyes.

"A snake?" she barked a laugh. "Who said that? Because the only action you've had was with your hand. You must have meant an itty, bitty _shrimp_."

Pietro forced a laugh. "And how else would _you_ know that, babe?"

Her face reddened further. Her eyebrows narrowed further. "No girl would be able to find it if you were naked in front of them." Her crowd then laughed and Pietro straighten his stance. "You think you're all cute." She stepped closer. "You wouldn't _be_ _able_ to ever get me."

A grin graced his face. "That's a challenge I'm willing to take, princess." He rocked back on his heels, enjoying her sarcastic smile drop from her face again. He knew she wouldn't be expecting that and is why he then told her what to be wearing when Spirit Week would be starting in the next two weeks.

Pietro rocked back on his heels wearing a shit-eating smile while Mckenzie and her crew all wore shocked expressions that a freakazoid was so determined and sure that he'd go with one of the most popular girls at Sherbrooke High.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

"Mr. and Mrs. Addams...your daughter is apparently a very good student. Her grades are in order, she's never been up to my office with any trouble before, and I've heard nothing but good reviews until this day…"

"Yes but that doesn't sound anything like our Sheryl," Mrs. Addams spoke and asked why they couldn't schedule on a different hour, when they weren't on the clock for work.

And so, the dean told them of Sherry Addams' outburst in class a week ago. Sherry was the only one that had gotten in trouble and she could swear it had something to do with Clarice, noting how the blonde and Mckenzie hadn't even gotten a wrap on the wrist. Sherry couldn't understand how they didn't even get a scolding when she explained what they had said, telling of some of the bullying they have done.

Sherry never really liked Clarice or Mckenzie. Both were too prideful, too selfish, stuck-up, and just plain rude. They downgraded anyone who they didn't see worthy or _"cool"_ enough in their eyes, which is one of the reasons Sherry was on their list of to-bully, why she wasn't in their popular circle. Because she wasn't as judgmental and smiled more, Sherry was labeled _too nice_ and _a walk-over_, and wouldn't be able to remain in Clarice's group before letting some lowlives in.

And yes, Clarice's group. If anyone could observe, they'd see that the blonde was basically the ringleader of the populars and who called the shots. Mckenzie was more of her right hand woman, and both were equally evil for the job.

Today, Sherry's parents were up in one of Sherbrooke's deans offices to discuss their daughter's previous outburst and Sherry sat silently next to her parents.

"So, you're telling me that when _my_ daughter was being _harassed_ by those other girls; when _my daughter_ stood up for herself, _she's_ the one that got in trouble?" Mrs. Addams loomed over the dean's desk. She was still in a pair of scrubs and black hair pulled back in a ponytail, having run straight from work and the sterile scent of the hospital lingered around her.

The elderly man—the dean—leaned back in reflex, stammering out the excuse that Sherry's behavior wouldn't be tolerated. And while Mrs. Addams agreed about the uncalled for outburst, she wasn't going to allow this situation to be dealt with so poorly. Her daughter was being punished unfairly; this situation was being handled very poorly, and those two other girls were out their probably getting away with other wrongs.

"Sir, I've dealt with kids who have literally been pushed to slicing their wrists open from situations just like this. These aren't just words or teenage antics. Kids have been driven and bullied to end their lives by peers _just_ _like_ those two girls." Mrs. Addams' tone was soft but her words drove deep and silenced the dean behind his desk. "So don't _try to lie_ and _convince me_ that this is a _small issue_ and _my daughter_ is at fault here. I don't know how well or closely you pay attention to these students here or listen to what is going on around here but you have some very troubling ones—some I have taken care of myself."

"I-I understand, Mrs. Addams, but your daughter's attitude still needs to be dealt with…" His voice trembled slightly.

Mrs. Addams' eyes hardened to an almost deathly look.

Her husband sitting beside her held a glare of his own, silently agreeing with his wife and keeping a poker face, unlike her.

Sherry kept her eyes down.

"Oh," Mrs. Addams took a step back, straightening her posture, "we _will_ take care of it; we're her parents." She gave a curt nod, meaning it. "But as a parent as well as someone who will have to _clean up your faults_, I expect you to take care of those two," her hand waved around at _those two_, indicating Clarice Wilhelm and Mckenzie Shabotz.

Sherry and her parents exited the office not long after, the strawberry blonde's gaze still to the floor. She had been released without any punishment, her mother tired of sitting in that office and making the dean's knees tremble.

When the family rounded a corner away from the dean's office, Mrs. Addams and Sherry paused. Mr. Addams gave Sherry a pat on the shoulder and a smile as he told his wife he was going back to work, blowing both a kiss.

Mrs. Addams waited until her husband left to look back around the corner and catching the dean hurrying out his office towards the principal. She hoped he was finally going to put an effort in his job. Shifted her purse further up her shoulder, she clasped Sherry's shoulder.

"What you did back there, back in class, that was very brave."

Sherry looked up, shocked. Her mother's tone had gone soft like it did when she used to cuddle Sherry in her lap.

"I've met many kids your age who wouldn't have done the same, and I know those girls have been a bother for years." Mrs. Addams smiled. "I'm proud of you."

Sherry's mouth had dropped, praise being the least she expected.

"A fly might fly in, honey," her moth joked about Sherry's open mouth. "Now I gotta get back to work," she pulled Sherry into a hug. "I'll see you later."

Sherry relaxed in her mother's arms. "Were you serious about when you said that thing about other kids having been bullied and…when…when killed themselves...?"

Mrs. Addams hesitated. "Yes. It's not a pretty sight or something to know, _but_ it's true. Some wouldn't have been as brave as you, especially after dealing with those girls this long." Her arms tightened around her daughter. "That's why I'm so proud of you."

Sherry knew her mother wouldn't let the school get away with such poor handling of the students' wellbeing and so lightly. But it hasn't been dealt with yet.

"Everything's been taken care of. Now if you have anymore trouble, don't hesitate to phone, alright?" Mrs. Addams sounded so much like the lawyer her father said she should be. She was a great negotiator, and was one of the things that made her husband fall for her.

They were still going to have to discuss this later at home, she told her daughter, but Mrs. Addams wasn't going to take anymore time from work, much less at this school. She shooed her daughter off to class.

Sherry nodded, catching her mother's figure vanish through the glass door and around the corner to the parking lot.

The halls were clear due to class still going on and Sherry's grip on her bag tightened unconsciously. It had already been embarrassing being pulled out of class being told her parents were here, and she wasn't eager to return just yet. Clarice was in her class this period as well...

The anxious meeting in the dean's had left her throat dry anyway.

After taking a restroom break, Sherry rounded the corner to make a detour to a water fountain. Her steps faltered seeing a girl already there, and slowed her own for her turn. The girl was a redhead, hair made up in a large braided bun—she must have a lot of hair!

Sherry had slowed her steps so that when she arrived at the fountain, the girl should be finished. But that didn't happen and the girl remained, holding her bangs at her side, drinking way more than Sherry probably ever would have.

Sherry gripped her back, feeling awkward, standing off to the side, waiting.

The girl swallowed, taking a breath. "There's another one down the hall." She then when back to drinking.

Sherry knew the girl meant another water fountain, but Sherry had been caught so much off guard that she didn't move, not knowing how to respond.

The girl had continued drinking, then took another gulp. She turned around, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Sherry was caught by her bright brown eyes.

"Can I help you with something," she spoke bitterly. When Sherry didn't answer, she shifted her weight to her other foot. "What're you staring at?"

Sherry blinked. "You…have a lot of hair," was the excuse she came up with.

Meisha's brows knit together. "Yeah, it happens. So what?" She leaned back down to take another drink of water.

Sherry pointed a finger. "Are you done?"

Meisha looked at her from the side of her eye. Slowly, she raised from the fountain, wiping her mouth again, and stepping to the side for Sherry to take her turn. Sherry saw the girl's motions were slow, like she was deliberately going slow…or testing, watching Sherry. She definitely felt the other's gaze as she drunk from the fountain.

Meisha leaned against the white-painted brick wall, crossing her arms. "You're that Sherry girl, aren't you?"

Sherry glanced up, nodded.

"Do you know that Juliet girl?"

Sherry raised a brow.

Meisha paused, acting as if she was trying to recall a name. "Rainy, I think her name was," she smiled.

If Sherry had seen it, she'd probably think it was a snake-like smile that matched her eyes.

"Yeah, I do," Sherry answered. "Why? You know her?" She looked up at Meisha from the side, brow raising.

"Oh no reason," Meisha smiled innocently, raising her chin. She then became serious. "I heard about the popular bitches last week."

Sherry sighed when she finished her drink. "That's circling already?"

"Yeah," Meisha shuffled her folded arms, "and she says that _you_ started it."

Sherry's chin dipped in disbelief. "Are you serious…?"

Meisha raised a hand. "As a heart attack," she lied.

"Ugh! She—-that…that aggravating…deceiving...liar!"

Meisha poked out her lip. "…I think that's what liar means." She was being a smartass.

"I can't believe her!" Sherry cried, grabbing at her head in frustration. How was she going to fix this? She rested her hands on the sides of the water fountain. "How long has been been going around?"

The mutant mused. "Umm…almost a week, I guess…"

Great.

"Oh my _god_ I hate her…"

"Hate's a pretty strong word."

"I know."

A grin slipped across Meisha's face.

"You really don't like her huh…she bothers you that much?"

Sherry gave her a look. It's Mckenzie _and_ Clarice."

Meisha's grin was gone when Sherry looked back at her. She sucked her teeth. "You and the rest of us."

Sherry's face relaxed. "Hey what's your name? I've seen you around here."

Meisha looked almost shocked now. She told the strawberry blonde and Sherry snapped her fingers, remembering that she's seen Meisha at several events when she had her hair down. She told that she was amazed at Meisha's hair length.

Meisha smiled politely.

"Say are you going to participate in Spririt Week?" Meisha asked.

Sherry shrugged her shoulders, telling that now she was reconsidering it. It was because the populars were probably going to be in charge of it again.

"Say…I know this is short notice, but if it's okay with you, could I go with you?" Meisha was truly shy to ask. "I could help to where Mckenzie wouldn't both you too." This had Sherry's attention and when she asked how, Meisha responded, "I know someone who can keep her busy."

Sherry's familiar wide smile appeared on her face again. "Of course," she answered to Meisha, telling how it'd be exciting to have another redhead to coordinate outfits with. Now, they were going to look great, she told Meisha, honestly excited.

She's seen Meisha on a few occasions and talked with the girl a few times when they had class together. Sherry has heard that the other redhead was labeled a freak by social status and that she was weird, kept to herself, and her long hair. But that was the thing that separately Sherry from the other crowd of populars—she didn't judge by rumors.

Sherry was honestly excited to have Meisha to go to Spirit Week with, thinking it would be a one-up than just going with Rainy—whom Sherry wasn't even sure she wouldn't go with Michelle's friends. Either way, Sherry had made another friend, she hoped.

Either way, Meisha wouldn't be ashamed by coming without a partner and would be closer to Rainy.

**_. . ._**

**_. . ._**

Rainy's pencil paused. "I don't think we should meet up anymore."

Pietro's paused a second from his snack, brows furrowing. Was she backing out of this? He started speaking the accusation when she interrupted him.

"This girl—your sister, I'm guessing—doesn't want us together."

"Don't talk like we're in a relationship," he snapped, hoping he wasn't turning red. "And what do you mean _sister_? What gave you that idea?"

"You both have a similar look in your eyes," she mused, remembering Wanda's eyes under her hood and hair.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"And she came to me earlier today."

_Rainy remembered Wanda's eyes baring down at her from under her red hood_

_"I know you've been seeing Pietro Maximoff"_

_Wanda had been short and to the point_

_"Leave him alone. Don't go stringing him by a cord"_

_Rainy had paused her writing, her planning of their next tutoring session_

_"And who are you? You must think highly of yourself to give out authoritative orders to a mere stranger"_

_Rainy had looked back at her in the eyes_

_"I don't want you near Pietro anymore got it?"_

_Rainy's gaze didn't waver and arm remained on her paper and holding her pencil_

_"And who are you?"_

Pietro wanted to swallow but Rainy would hear (he exaggerated to himself).

"When did this happen?" He was starting to sweat.

"Did you not hear me—today."

"Don't," Pietro placed his snack down on the table. "Don't worry about her. I'll deal with her. I'll get this."

"I do hope so." Rainy looked up at him, face not moving from over her paper. "I don't need to go clean up your mess about how you made a girl cry. You're already enough to deal with."

"I'm not going to make my own sister cry! …And you'd be lucky to bask in my air."

Rainy leaned to the side. "You should really work on your wording, especially if you're going to need my help after this paper. I don't doubt you would."

Pietro was ready to snap.

Rainy had rented out a study room in a local library. She had been careful about picking it, making sure it had no windows to the library and was toward the back. She meant it about not being seen by others—it not only had to do with her school reputation but for personal reasons as well.

Rainy leaned to the side in her chair. "Oh so she is your sister?" A smile would have spread across her face if she could without it looking like a grimace. Instead she remained deadpan.

Pietro realized his outburst. "Whatever. Just forget it." He went aback to his snack.

Rainy sat up in her chair and opened her book to where they left off last time.

With thos study session, it was a two way street—she'll help Pietro with the essay but he had to pay attention in class, something he still struggled with. Last time, Rainy had to reread the last two chapters they had gone over in class, here in the study room.

Pietro found it much easier to listen that to follow and read himself. Sometimes he fantasied about laying in Rainy's lap, listening to the book that way...

YEAH RIGHT!

She would end him if he ever he suggested it.

"…right here, the boy uses this as a metaphor for death and growing up. That's how that old lady was considered an important level in his life."

Pietro listened with a cheek in his palm, doing his best to eat at a normal pace.

"Do you understand?" Rainy asked.

He shrugged. "I guess." Another bite. "It's still boring though."

Rainy save back in her chair, looking into the book herself. She mumbled under her breath, low enough that Pietro had to strain to hear it.

_"So is everything else"_

Sometimes he forgot about her condition, like when he grabbed at her arm and she only stopped when she noticed her body wasn't moving any more, or when she wouldn't laugh at a joke. Her condition was also how she realized that Pietro and the girl with the red jacket were related.

It was something he was still getting used to and sometimes he hated it.

Pietro finished the rest of his snack and leaned forward across the table, sprawling his arms in her direction across from him as Rainy found her place. And as she began reading again, he liked to focus on the way her lips pronounced.

* * *

**_A/N: so for some reason I shouldn't have, I had to do a one-shot request which I really wished I hadn't done now. It took too much time away from working on my other fics. I apologize for the wait for another chapter. Really, I'm so, so, sorry. This one was pretty long I guess and hope it's good enough that can somewhat make up for it…?_**

**_Thank you greatly to those who reviewed! And I'm terrible at these chapter titles I'm so sorry..._**

**_to The Scheming Turtle: _**_You're fine, honest! It doesn't sound bad sat all._

**_to Lyra: _**_No it wasn't early :) I actually saw it the day of. And your wish of the twins at school is something I have planned in coming chapters :)_

**_Hope everyone had a fun Halloween! (I know I'm late) What'd you all do or go as? I went as a dark witch with a mole, a (fake)mossy hat, and my wand from Potter World (I've never really done anything for it before) and I took my siblings out for trick or treating. When I got home me and others I live with had a Halloween movie marathon and went to bed around 3 or 4 in the morning._**


	30. Chapter 24: Intermission IV

**_A/N: Class was cancelled so I'm uploading this tonight. *whispers: Have you noticed when I don't know what to call a chapter and when it's like there's side information, I title it "intermission?"*_**

**_Thank you so much for the reviews :) And to Lyra, this first part/book of this series in a way is like a calm before the storm, so I do plan on there being much more later on._**

**_EDIT: I've translated everything that was originally written in Serbian, in favor of making it sure that not everyone spoke english. It's now all in english now._**

* * *

"I don't want you around her." Wanda stomped after her brother and into the house.

The bus pulled away in the distance minutes ago and Pietro tried to block out his twin's nagging, but that was harder to do and had to endure it from the bus stop until he bounded up the steps to the Maximoff's small house. Pietro remained at moderate speed, though quicker than Wanda's and pulled out his house key as she approached his side. She glared at his back and she already knew his response—and his eyes would get stuck in his head if he rolled them any further—and she was close to scolding him and not unlike their aunt.

Both trudged into the midtone-colored living room. The front door slammed shut behind them and then he was gone with a faint _zip_.

"_Pietro!_" Wanda screamed into the house.

Luckily, Marya and her daughter weren't home yet so the twins had the house all to themselves. Wanda wasn't so sure that it was the best idea...

She balled her fists at her sides and her nose flared once and she waited for a response that she knew wasn't going to come. "Pietro! You putz, you're unbearable!" She changed dialect and language, it rolling off her tongue like thick chocolate.

"Nobody asked for your opinion!" his voice rang out and responding in Serbian from his basement bedroom.

It was their mother language, the one they grew up hearing the first several years of their lives before coming to The States. Back then, they lived with Marya and her husband before the twins' powers started becoming an issue. Sometimes, the twins and Marya found themselves slipping back into their mother tongue. They also used it when they didn't want the littlest Maximoff eavesdropping and she always whined about it and Marya promised to teach her one day when her several jobs allowed her a long enough leave.

"You should not be around her," Wanda called back, tongue rolling.

In a gust of air, he was in front of her. Her expression was red and she was fuming, he saw.

He smirked.

"Wanda, do you really think that I would go as far as actually make friends, and to believe that you are the only woman in my life?" It was spoken in sarcasm but his expression was deadpan and serious.

The clock above the television showed that Marya would be picking up their youngest sister about now.

Wanda huffed. "You do not know her."

"I more than you."

Her eyes widened and for a split moment and not for the first time, she wondered what it was about this girl that kept her brother so adamant.

Pietro spun on his heels to trail into the kitchen and Wanda was right on his heels.

"What do you _do_ all day?"

Why did her brother spend so much time around this girl? And Wanda wondered what could they possibly be getting into for those hours he's been spending with her. Wanda's heard of the things that the girl has been in, of the deceptions she's caused, that she's a part of the schools more popular crowd, of the breaking and entering of the school that somehow hadn't reached the principal yet, of the heartbreak she's caused, and Wanda has overheard that Rainy Capulet regularly snuck out at night.

To Wanda, Rainy was nothing but trouble, a hindrance that her already easily distracted brother didn't need.

Wanda wondered _why_ her brother was so intent on these sort of things, why he disappeared after school for _hours_ on end and came home late where Wanda would sometimes have to watch their sister by herself. For so long, Wanda and the rest of their family chalked it up to Pietro just being the uncontrollable teenager he was, but lately, Wanda has been wondering if it was something else—and when she found out that that Capulet girl had become involved, she had found her answer.

Wanda would have never dared to try the _popular_ gang, to interact with _them_ and much less to _constantly put up_ with someone like that girl who would continuously ignore and belittle, who only put up with him.

She watched him pop open a bottle of soda and drain it in seconds. Before he started on his second, she spoke.

"You know that she does not care, right?"

Wanda didn't expect for him to smirk in response.

He changed back to English, this time, not hiding the accent behind closed doors. "Actually, we've made a sorta…_agreement_. And she wouldn't be able to get along _without_ me." He chugged down the second Coke. "She even so thinks as _crossing_ me and," he snapped his fingers, "her world goes _boom_."

Wanda didn't seem impressed. In Serbian: "I know its your bet. Do you really think it will work ..."

Pietro smiled, tilting his chin up and swallowing the last of the soda. "Well I guess we'll have to see if little Juliet would really waste away so tragically and selfishly, or if she actually has a _heart_."

"Шта? The hell does that mean?"

Pietro raised a brow. "Romeo and Juliet—have you never read it?"

It was a book he heard of first in english class and then from Rainy herself during a meaningless musing. She had given him the synopsis of the story weeks ago and barely with any emphasis on detail. He didn't have the teacher that assigned the book to read out loud for the first time that day, when the class those years ago had to take part in the reading and thus, he was not there personally when Rainy first acquired her nickname.

Wanda's brows raised. "Have _you_?"

He went quiet.

Pietro perced his lips.

Wanda crossed her arms.

Neither have read the story of Romeo and Juliet, but both knew the synopsis: of apparent star-crossed lovers who fell in love at first sight. They've heard of the story before from a teacher in class once, of the young teens who thought that their "love" was strong enough that it justified suicide, that they thought that life would stop going on if one of them had to go without the other.

Wanda's eyes widened. "Oh god. You gave her a _nickname_?!"

"Who a nickname?" He tried to play innocent.

"_Pietro_," Wanda sighed, "_don't_ try to be the hero, and think that you can change her. She's one of _them_," she meant the popular crowd. "You shouldn't be around her; she isn't good for you. Don't try to be the Romero in this situation."

Honestly, he's never thought of it in that way before.

His head had tilted down and there was a small wrinkle in-between his brows. "She's not good for _you_, you mean? And she isn't as bad as you think she is." By Wanda's look, he knew she didn't expect him to defend this girl so. "I know her," he lied. "And…she…something happened. She hasn't always been that way."

Well that was obvious  
Anyone who's spoken with her could tell  
something happened.

To Wanda, Rainy was the stone-faced girl who only replied with rude remarks and never smiled, much less exempt any signs of emotion. She knew that Rainy had been a part of the popular clique ever since befriending some girl a part of it, but Wanda has never interacted with her.

She didn't give any indication that she spoke with Rainy earlier that week.

Pietro pointed a finger. "And she told me that you went and interrogated her."

This made Wanda's jaw drop open. _Interrogated?!_

"Don't go around trying to intimidate people, Wanda. You won't make friends that way."

If steam could come out of people's ears, it would have been coming out of hers by now. "That's a lie!" she cried. "She's lying to you!"

Rainy never spoke "interrogated" or "intimidate"

"More like _tried_," Wanda continued, meaning her allegedly intimidating Rainy. "She didn't even _blink_ at me. That girl…there's something wrong with her!"

Pietro placed his fists on his hips, forcing a cheeky half grin. "Yeah?" He leaned in his sister's space. "Then why don't you find out what?"

He was only being sarcastic, but when she craned her neck back, sucking in a big breath of air and that look in her eye—he knew he had made a mistake and gone too far.

"Oh yeah? Then how about I _will_?!"

He watched Wanda turned down the hallway that led to the bedrooms. He was in shock at his sister's assertness and sudden determination that it wasn't until he heard the echo of her bedroom door slam that he snapped out of it, calling, "I was being sarcastic!"

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Donna knocked on her daughter's bedroom door and waited to be told to enter. From behind the door, she could hear rustling before her daughter invited her inside.

In her room, Rainy was hunched over her desk, two textbooks open and loose papers littering the surface. Immediately, Donna felt as if she had intruded on some sort of business and stepped off to the side, watching her daughter still.

Rainy's voice broke the quiet: "yes, Mom?"

Donna had almost jumped a little at her daughter's sudden acknowledgment, and when she turned around so slowly, eyes trained on something scribbled on a stray sheet of notebook paper, the words almost escaped Donna. She forced a smile instead.

"Hi, honey." She shifted her weight and Rainy's gaze glued to her. Under Rainy's gaze, sometimes it felt like her daughter seemed almost..._emotionless_… "You okay? You've been cooped up in here for a while and…"

_And avoiding me and your father more than usual_ would be the truth she wouldn't choose to speak.

Donna has noticed that her daughter has started to spend an increasing amount of time in her bedroom lately. Rainy also continued to lie that the reason she has been coming home later than usual was because she was spending more and more time at the library. Donna has had a conversation about this with her husband not too long ago before he chalked it off and rushing out again to some _meeting_ or something of another to with she wondered if Deborah was truly at home. Donna's husband hasn't been spending much time at home either now that she thought about it, and sometimes she felt like she was the only one who stayed at home anymore, feeling like both her husband and her daughter were now ignoring and lying to her.

Rainy stared at her mother for the beat of a second. "Yes. Are _you_ okay?" She noted her mother's stance of discomfort. "Something bothering you, Mom?"

Usually, Rainy would have just left it at the first question, but this was her _mother_; even if she couldn't personally, _truly_ possess any feeling of care towards her mother's own feelings, she had to continue the _act_, to at least _appear_ as if she did.

_One person knowing was bad enough_

Donna pushed off of the wall, stepping closer to her daughter. "It's just that…" she began wringing her hands. "…You've been_ "so busy"_ lately—you and your father—and I just feel that—-"

"Are you going to try and guilt trip me?" Rainy's words cut her metaphorically and to the point.

The act wasn't as subtle as Donna made it out to be, having done it to her family on numerous occasions. But ever since the beginning of Rainy's…_condition_, more things had begun to stand out and come to light to the girl—like her parents' guilt tripping, her mother's intimate "friends," her father's continuous lies—it's enlightening when you learn to read body language and to just _listen_ when pesky _feelings_ aren't getting in the way.

Donna blinked away the tears she had begun forcing to the surface and took on a look of surprise. "Uh n-no. Why would you say that?"

Rainy blinked. "I dunno," she lied, deadpan. "You've done it before."

That look of shock flashed again for a split second. "Um well…I was wondering if there was anything I could help you with. You, uh, seem to have a lot more schoolwork than usual, I see," her eyes pointed at the girl's cluttered desk. This was the third week it had been like this.

Rainy glanced at her desktop and replied with a simple "no." She continued, honestly: "this isn't something you can help me with."

"Why not?"

Rainy hesitated, thoughts speeding through her mind at lightening speed.

_Why?_—_because you'd learn about my private school life and activities. You'd learn about the ridiculous bet/neutral agreement with one of the school's outcasts, and from that you'd learn that he stole my necklace and you'd undoubtedly would want to take it to the head of the school. And then from that, you'd find out that we met when accompanied by Sherry and a few others, when sneaking into the school after hours because there wasn't enough time given to complete the banners for the school event—then you'd want to take that to the school board and demand for more time for extracurricular activities and make reasons to why the government didn't give more time which hindered children and affected their daily productivity._

But then none of that mattered.

Not to Rainy

Rainy hesitated before answering her mother. "Because it's private."

Donna's brows knitted together.

Because Rainy's mother had the mix of her own mother and father's opposing genes, her complexion was a lovely light caramel (a light skinned "redbone") and her hair a certain dark, dirty blonde that comes from interracial reproduction.

"How private can homework be?"

"It's not mine."

Rainy glanced at yellow sticky note hidden under her left hand. It marked the parts of _Great Expectations_ she had to break down for Pietro. From their weeks of meetings so far, she's found out that English was not his first language which explained the hint of an accent that started his teasing in school since was small.

Rainy moved her hand over the note, leaning back against her desk. She looked back up at her mother across her room. "I'm helping someone, and I'm sure they'd appreciate it if no one knew about it." Her voice was emotionless as usual but she tried to put emphasis to show that this was not a public issue.

Donna's mouth opened in a small o-shape of understanding for the first part, and then when Rainy hinted to keep quiet, she had to object. "You mean don't tell your father?"

Rainy didn't reply.

"You know I can't do that. Besides, you know how he gets."

Rainy stared back with a blank look that drove on for what felt like minutes until she finally made a move, turning her back to her mother as she faced her desk again. "Ok then, just forget about it then."

Donna wore a look with furrowed brows again. "Rainy, I'm not going to lie to your father. It's not a big deal, of all this," she waved an arm.

"Lie about what?" Rainy turned back, brows raising in a convincing look. "This is my work, and I'd like it if he didn't know about all the extra work I have to do for class. It'd be embarrassing. And nothing is a lie if it's simply not said."

Donna knew what Rainy meant. If she was to mention it to her husband, Rainy would repeat that all these papers belonged to her. She knew that her daughter would keep insisting and insisting to both of them, maybe go as far as to forge it all. It wouldn't be unlikely, remembering the times as a toddler Rainy would blatantly lie to get out of trouble.

And by the look on her daughter's face now, Donna knew that it would certainly be true.

Donna knew what she was doing, and sometimes she couldn't believe how devious her daughter had become. Now, she was beginning to believe the jokes made by their family members about the sneakiness of her and her husband rubbing of on their daughter were no more a joke.

Rainy folded the yellow sticky note between her fingers. "So now, I have to get to my work, Mom. If that's ok…"

Her daughter wouldn't tell anything if she didn't want to—she was stubborn that way.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Clarice pushed her vegetables around on her plate, a cheek slumped on a curled fist and resentful look on her face. Her mother, whom sat across from her at the dinner table, watched her daughter from over her glasses along the bridge of her nose.

"For the last time, Clarice, _stop being a child_ and _eat _your vegetables."

They were having a dinner of salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, frozen vegetables and broccoli, and her daughter has been sour all afternoon.

"I don't want these vegetables." Clarice continued moving them around with her fork.

This argument had been going on for almost thirty minutes and having enough of it, Ms. Wilhelm slammed her palms on the dinner table, jumping to her feet and her actions making the dinnerware clatter.

"Clarice Elizabeth Wilhelm! Stop this nonsense! You're going to _eat_ them and you are going to eat them _now_!"

Her scream made their two cats jump and bristle.

Unalarmed, Clarice turned her eyes up to her mother, not lifting her head. Her look said everything that her mouth didn't: no.

Ms. Wilhelm had a fairly pleasant day at work until she checked the answering machine when she returned home and learned that her daughter had been in the midst of a fight. Clarice hadn't been one of the fighters but being there, a grin on her face and watching all too eagerly, didn't put her in a favorable light either. Especially not with that woman, Addams, voicing wrong that had been done to _her_ daughter—_that_ had been directly caused by Clarice.

At the dinner table, Mrs. Wilhelm was breathing quite heavily, trying to keep her emotions under control because she knew that her outburst had not been her own. She hadn't felt irritated until stepping foot in the house earlier that day and the overwhelming feeling of almost-rage filing their home.

"What if I don't?" Clarice challenged.

Her mother's nostrils flared.

From an outsider's perspective, the scene would have looked like the beginning of a negatively charged verbal fight. But Ms. Wilhelm was the adult in this situation and she had to take control, even though with the more angry she allowed herself to become, the more she could feel her control being overthrown.

"Clarice, _enough_!"

In the living room, the two house cats were hissing and spitting at one other, backs arched and controlled by the negative charges suffocating the air.

Clarice's disapproving look didn't change and her mother felt herself becoming livid. Anger and irritation choked the air so much that it could have started a mob.

Ms. Wilhelm grabbed her glass, barely resisting the urge to fling the water onto her daughter out of her controlled emotion, but she knew that the act would only anger Clarice further and composed herself.

From the living room, mother and daughter could hear their cats going at it, fighting and hissing.

Taking in a steadying breath, Ms. Wilhelm began taking control, countering her daughter's negative charges by emitting her own calming pheromones.

"Ok I'm going to try again… Clarice," she tried to keep her tone steady and calm, feeling the anger in the room being overpowered, "would you _please_ gain more control and quit this at the dinner table."

"Oh so just not at the dinner table?"

The anger spiked again but Ms. Wilhelm ignored her daughter's sarcasm and got it back under control. It took several minutes, but soon there were no more hits sounding from the living area but the two cats continued to hiss.

"Clarice," her mother's voice warning and still calm, "stop this. Right now."

The blonde rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly. She played with the vegetables on her plate more but the negative tension had effectively diminished in the room. Her mother took over, heaving a deep breath and filled the living space with calming, happy pheromones for the cats. Now she felt as relaxed and untroubled as she had been when she first walked through the door, the tension completely gone now.

Their living room had gone quiet as well and the cats were curled together, licking their scratch wounds. This whole ordeal hadn't lasted longer than fifteen minutes.

She looked back at her daughter and forced a smile. "Now, eat your food, honey." Her knife made faint clinks against the glass plate. "You're not leaving this table until you do and I don't care if you miss your show." She raised a sliced piece of salisbury steak to her mouth and chewed, no longer worried about her daughter's spoiled groans of protest.

* * *

**_A/N: I wanted to upload something for the longest and inspiration has been running low. This is a slow chapter so whatever and I hope everyone's weekend and holiday had been decent at least. I recently just bought Age of Ultron on DVD and I've gone to go rewatch it so hopefully I'll get my flow back from that._**

**_If anyone has any scenarios you would like me to do or things you'd want me to show or touch on (besides Pietro and Rainy because that's a given), give me a shout (Also it can help tons.) (I'm wanting to close this story in about ten-ish chapters or so because it's felt like I've stayed on this for too long. I want to get on to the next phase/book of this story and I think it's _way_ past time to do so. I mean it's been over a fucking year and _goddamn_ I'm such a slow writer!)_**


	31. Chapter 25: Repercussion I

**_A/N: I had to delete this chapter because there was a scene out of order that I added at the end._**

* * *

Rainy flipped the pages of the book in front of her back to the beginning of the chapter, her eyes following the words on the page for just an extra few seconds before the cover closed, keeping the mark with a finger. Her lips parted slowly at the start of words. "...Can you tell me anything you've learned from this?"

Pietro sighed, face buried in the bents of his elbows. He slowly raised his head from his folded arms on the wooden table and straightened his posture as he met the steely gaze of the girl across him, and slouched in his chair. "That the boy is a little bitch baby," he answered.

Rainy's eyes glanced from the reopened pages of _Great Expectations_, and back to him, and his pulse sped faintly, for a millisecond.

"Seriously, Pietro."

Her gaze was always so steely, cold, and almost aloof.

He snapped, "don't call me Pietro."

She blinked—if she had the attitude to roll her eyes, she would have then.

_Rainy has light, bright eyes that shone in the light_

He held her gaze for a few more moments before heaving an exaggerated sigh. "_Fine,_" he puffed, and pushed back from the study room table. "_Seriously_…I wasn't really paying attention. I was…uh…" He rolled his wrist around in a thinking gesture. "I spaced out."

She stared.

And blinked.

And he held his breath.

Rainy's eyes watched him for another minute, and he realized that out of three years of knowing of her, she had this vacant, almost empty look in her eyes, and he swallowed.

She closed the book loudly and when the speedster jumped, she realized just how forcefully she had done so, but merely slid the book to the side without an apology. Why should she give one? She didn't feel bad about it, not like she _could_ have.

Rainy pulled out a notebook from her bookbag and began scribbling in it.

Pietro squared his shoulders, craned his neck. "Hey, Juliet…what're you writing in that thing. Aren't we supposed to be studying here? That isn't very professional of you, not paying attention like that, you know. Hey, what're you writing? Whats that for?"

She didn't bother looking back up; she didn't answer either.

"Hey, Juliet…"

He peered across the table, catching something in cursive. She had nice handwriting too...

Again, she showed how heavy handed she was and slammed her notebook closed, making Pietro jump again. But she sat still then, listening for something. Finally, she murmured, "it seems that we can't continue coming here any longer." She pulled her collar to straighten it, and stood from the table.

Pietro remained seated, eyes trained on her. "Why? Are we finishing—are you quitting this?" He jumped to conclusions again. "You can't _quit_!"

"It's already five o'clock," she began, stuffing her notebook back into her bookbag, followed by her paperback copy of the novel, voice still so calm. "Plus, I had just went over everything we read and discussed in the last three class days. …And someone from school must have caught on to us." The silver zipper of her bag was loud in the nearly quiet study room.

He perked. "Oh shit! _Who_?!"

He sped over to a window to pull back the curtain and peek out. Rainy stopped him before he could.

"Don't open that. They're too close by."

"How could _you_ know?" he spat.

"Listen."

Indeed, there was the scuffing of Jordan I sneakers across the library carpet and chattering about bimbettes and Grandmaster playing through headphones.

Pietro turned to her. "How could they have known?"

Rainy stood in the middle of the room, bag on her shoulder and staring off at an unfocused point. "…It's probably because I turned down Marcus earlier…" she spoke slowly, lifting her chin to stare at a spiderweb in the corner of the ceiling.

Pietro's head whipped around, voice holding a suspicious edge. "_Who's_ _Marcus_?"

"No one you need to be concerned with." Her bright eyes darted in his direction again. "Just some overly self-centered witless who wanted to ask me out last week." It was said with such calm that Pietro had to remember that none of this mattered to her.

Pietro's eyes remained on her.

"You didn't, did you?"

There was a pause as she straightened her pleaded skirt, but he already knew her answer.

"No. I already have to follow after you. Why would I deal with someone who was ten times worse and doesn't seem to hold the capacity that manners matter?"

_Hypocrite._

Well...

His eyes narrowed. "That seems pretty hypocritical of you, doesn't it?"

"What I said could have said could have been taken as hypocritical?"

"Nevermind…"

"Honestly, if someone doesn't have the mental capacity of a toilet plunger or not be able to solve a simple sudoku puzzle, then there is no interest of mine and I'll simply wait for evolution to take it's coarse for them."

"Rainy…I thought this all would have passed by now…" He sighed. He meant all the insults, though given they haven't had a bought in almost four days.

"Passed what?" She looked back at him with such oblivion that Pietro found he just couldn't get mad again. It would be useless to.

"Nevermind."

* * *

Ronny stared up at the two-story white washed brick building and its large block letters that contrasted like a beacon, and it was _ugly_. Those dark, clunky letters against that ghastly paint and bland building was enough to make him _actually_ sick and want to return home. But Ronny gripped both straps of his backpack and lowered his head and climbed the steps of the main entrance doors. He ignored the shoves and pushes as students hurried past and inside as the first bell rang for class and just thought, hoped, that this year would end on a good note.

Ronny was prone to bad luck

At the same time and on a picnic table, Meisha sat with knees crossed and leaned back on her hands, the ends of her high-waisted jeans rolled up to expose her converses. When she caught sight of her friend slouched over and in his usual melancholy stance, she stood, tried to wave but he wasn't looking her way. Instead, she jumped down and raced over. Meisha had to tap his side to finally get his attention.

Ronny looked over at her soft face. Was it just him or was there something…_off_ about her, something _different_.

"You alright, Ron?" Meisha wasn't smiling exactly, but there was a hint of something like it tugging at the corners of her lips and he hesitated to respond.

She joined him as he entered the school and into the frenzy of students. But she also noticed that he wouldn't look at her, rubbing his arm instead, and Meisha visibly frowned. She caught sight of two bandages on the inside of his left elbow.

"You went to the doctor? You were sick?"

His eyes widened, darted.

There was something wrong.

"No…" He began, and then swallowed a lump in his throat. "I…I…"

His words jumbled up and became a train wreck on his tongue and came out in broken, sad fragments. He took a moment to breathe, forcing himself under control but just before he could organize the the sentences in his head, a second smack on his back greeted him from behind, and Ronny stumbled forward a step. When both Meisha and he turned steely glances around to the greeter, this one in a much brighter mood, Pietro's smiling face was what they found turned around to see.

The speedster had a hand up in greeting but his sharky grin weakened upon seeing his two friends.

"What's up with you two?" A pale brow arched.

Meisha and Ronny shared glances and Pietro began to bristle. Did they know something that he didn't? Were they keeping some sort of secret?—_were they actually together?!_

_Oh god_

"What's going on," he snapped. Turning to Ronny, a finger pointing, "what the hell happened to _you_ last weekend? You totally bailed!" The shorter boy threw his hands up in the air, becoming ecstatic.

Meisha saw Ronny's head lower and his frown deepen. "I told you, I wasn't feeling good. You know I'm almost never free on weekends."

Ronny was almost never free because of his parents

_Parents Disturbed_

Pietro felt his boiling anger begin to simmer down. He rocked back on his heels, remembering so.

But it wasn't like he could have _actually _had done something that weekend anyway...

"Right," he scoffed, shoving his fists in the pockets of his black letterman jacket. Ronny remembered that is was the one with the tiger on the back, one Pietro's younger sister had stolen once and almost spilled juice all over. Pietro's chin pointed to the other, Meisha. "So, uh, what's with you? What's got you so totally weirded out?"

The three were now walking down the crowded hallway side by side, as if there weren't imaginary lines beginning to be drawn between them all.

Pietro winked at a speckled blonde walking by.

Meisha rolled her eyes. He constantly insisted that he was _suave_ and _cool_—both embarrassingly untrue.

"My… Uh…" Ronny was butchering his words again. "Uh, my—-I was taken to the doctor this weekend. My _mom_ thought I was _sick_."

Pietro shrugged. "So? Were you?"

Meisha was equally curious.

"No! I mean—I was _sweaty_ and all, but—-" He stopped, catching sight of Clarice down the opposite way of the hall and he swallowed. "I wasn't sick."

Again, Pietro shrugged. "So?"

"_So_—-?! I _wasn't_ sick! And when I went, I…I had to give some _blood_ and I'm afraid that…that…_you know_, that she'll _find out_." His eyes darted around once, as if he was afraid that someone here would overhear and understand and expose him. "…I think…I think there might be something going on with _it_…with me…"

Meisha blinked, her expression now much softer.

_"It"_ was his mutation.

MUTATION

mutation was a taboo

WRONG

"Ronny," Meisha began slowly, choosing to ignore Pietro's oblivious stare. "I don't think you can find out by blood. How do you even know that—-"

"How do _you_ know? Maybe your parents can just _pay_ the doctor off!"

Pietro's eyes widened at Ronny's sudden flared temper.

A kid pushed passed, bumping into his arm and Meisha's backpack, making her leer forward.

She gaped. "Wha—-that's—-that's not true!"

"Oh yeah? We-well how do _you_ know?"

They knew the differences, they all did—Meisha's parents were accepting of her powers, of her abilities, mutation, and Ronny's...

NO

_"I'd kill it dead the minute I see one of those _things_ walking around!"_

His father had spoken once.

His mother had never protested.

Ronny clenched his fist. "Because—-because—-"

His hands were shaking and Pietro's eyes glanced around, hoping no one was paying too close attention. Ronny's escalate in emotions was what set his powers off.

"She could have found…" He suddenly stopped, taking in a deep sigh. His shoulders slumped and his eyes stared at his shoes. "I think it's only a matter of time. Something always goes wrong around Spirit Week anyway, doesn't it?"

Ronny believes his is prone to bad luck

"Ronny…"

"Name _one_ instance that it hadn't."

Neither Meisha nor Pietro could and thus didn't respond.

"I thought so."

"Ron…" Pietro tried this time.

A girl Meisha recognized on the cheerleading team shoved in between the trio and her group sent snarls toward the three from over their shoulder. Pietro was the only one to sneer back. Meisha looked to the ground sheepishly.

"…Maybe it's not that big of a deal—-I mean, maybe she won't find out?" Meisha added quickly, saving herself. "She only thought you were sick, right? Maybe that's all she thought it was..."

Ronny shrugged. His jersey seemed a size too large for him, but that was because of his wide shoulders and lean torso.

His friend placed a hand on his lower arm. He noticed her hair was still up in a bun and when he asked her about it, she only shrugged.

Pietro fidgeted. "So…" Since the tension had calmed down, he thought it was safe now to speak. "Are you two even going to go?"

Meisha's hand fell back to her side. "Go where?"

"Spirit Week. _Duh_. It's so gloomy; change of subject."

There was a banner hanging vertically on the wall between a row of lockers and a classroom door. The school colors were used in the banner's design and text, and the bright colors made it impossible to miss. Pietro hated their school's colors.

Meisha and Ronny exchanged looks.

"Maybe," she responded, and this time, Ronny gaped like a goldfish.

"Y-you're going?! With _who_?"

Her thick brows slanted downward. "I talk to other people besides _you two_, you know!"

Pietro snickered.

Ronny was still surprised. "Yeah, but _who asked you_?" He was genuinely curious but his words came out harsher than intended.

Meisha's eyes blazed, and for a split second, her eyes could have become amber lightening and turn her into a different person altogether. "Not everyone is as stuck up like _you_ two zeeks." Her glare shot to the speedy one with that last word though her defense had been meant for the both of them. "I'm going with another friend of mine."

But Meisha was the shy, quiet, awkward girl who _didn't have _any friends.

"Like that friend of yours you told us about but he _never_ showed up?" Pietro taunted. In the distance, he saw a familiar head of bushy, dark brown hair and a fluttery feeling sprouted in his chest.

Ronny only glanced at the other.

"No," she defended. "I'm meeting up with her later this week, and we're going to be _matching_ on Spirit Week!"

"Oh, it's a _girl_ now?" Pietro folded his arms, cheesing a boastful grin.

The redhead was bristling. "Yes, it's a _girl_. That a problem?!"

Ronny bumped Pietro's shoulder. "Man, just leave her alone," he hushed.

But the speed mutant grinned, waving his hand as if he was actually going to listen. "Yeah, right. That's not the point; it's _who_ asked you. Because…" He rolled his wrist, indicating Meisha, "wouldn't it be a bit _too awkward_ for _you_?"

Meisha turned her nose.

"With all your hair 'nd stuff and that you aren't the most _entertaining_ at parties?" The silver one continued. "Be careful that you and your hair don't _eat_ this one this time, big bad," he joked, then waved his hands. He was trying to hold in laughter.

Ronny hissed at his again, to which Pietro ignored.

"Sorry. This is just so…_funny_. Because let's be honest, it's not expected for someone like _you_ to do _actually_ get a _date_. This is funny, no?" he elbowed Ronny, chuckling.

"_Eat a dick, Pietro!_"

He paused, flabbergasted.

Sometimes, Meisha wondered why she was still friends with them, why she kept talking with those two half-baked, self-centered jerks. _So what_ they all had went to the same schools and been together for over five years now, they were _still_ _jerks_. They never knew the right things to say and laughed when the first signs of someone appearing "sensitive," and at times like this, they were never very supportive.

After Meisha's outburst, she earned a few pointed looks as she stomped off.

Ronny only stood there, not knowing what to think or say. He absentmindedly rubbed the inside of his elbow.

And when Pietro grew a wide grin as Mckenzie approached with her usual entourage, gearing up to dash off towards her where he started his disappointing charm on her and was greeted with a looks of disgust, Ronny was the last one to be standing in that spot in the hallway, and when the bell rang for classes to begin, his hands couldn't stop shaking.

He shouldn't be used to these things happening.

**_. . .  
. . ._**

It's been a few weeks since Rainy last saw Michelle—but it's not like she was _worried_ or anything about it. In fact, right now, she preferred that she wasn't and couldn't be. There was enough she had to deal with now, and that she's been tutoring that Maximoff boy for weeks now was definitely taking up much of her time. And then there were her parents, and that she's had to do her own homework, and that Sherry liked to talk _so much _when she's so far as caught a _glimpse _of Rainy's hair in a crowd.

She also should probably re-dye the tips of her hair again. It was growing out more and tickled past her shoulders, and the lighter brown dyed tips only reached to the top of her shoulders instead of to the middle of her neck like it had before.

But that was not top priority right now.

Top priority now was getting away from this Danny Zuko wannabe because she had a book to return and another to check out and if she didn't get there in the next ten minutes, it would be marked overdue.

It was inside the maze of the school's library bookshelves she was now, in a position that _would_ _have_ probably enraged or irritated her. Instead, she remained calm and collected.

She's finished that cheesy romance novel almost a week ago and honestly, it was one of the worst she's ever read. The writing was terrible, the so-called cliff hangers were cheaply written, the characterization was mediocre, and the plot and _happily ever after _ending was far too predictable. But she guessed that that is what she gets for a novel written in the sixties.

She held a new book in her hand but hid it behind her back and knew that Danny Zuko here would ridicule her for it. And here in the library, she looked from the boy in front of her and off to the side, almost in an eye roll. The boy had an arm on the shelf near her head, trying to cage her in.

"…Huh, Rainy?" The boy loomed over, his smirk growing.

"Huh what?"

He frowned.

"I know you heard me." She could tell that he was growing irritated, by his tone.

"No," she answered. And it was spoken so coldly, so flat, that the boy was dumbfounded, a look that fit him.

"'Ey, why not?" His eyes widened as a thought came to mind and he frowned. "Oh god, are you a _dyke_? Is that it?" Because, really, I haven't met any girl that wanted to give _this_ up." He gestured to his physique, his arm gesturing from his chest to his Jordan I shoes. "And that's the only reason I can think of—-"

"I don't socialize with mediocre, cheap, and the egoistical. And it has nothing to do with how many pushups you can do because, really, that doesn't interest me."

She saw him become enraged, his brows arching downward and that gross way his lips upturned in a complete upside-down letter U, and yet she felt nothing and continued staring at him with such a placid look and flat-line to her lips.

"Are you calling me a dumbass?"

"I didn't say it exactly; you did."

His other arm hit the shelf, caging her completely.

"What's your problem?" he snapped.

Rainy shrugged, glancing down at the floor. "Like I said. I don't get with guys with sweatbands, and frankly, that's what you wear all the time when you strut around and think that your entitled more than everyone else. And let me guess…you probably smoke in your parents' basement that's decorated with posters of White Snake and Devo, and you must think that you're some kind of hotshot, don't you? I mean, who else would come up and think that physical force is a way of attaining anything—you know, anyone who doesn't fail simple algebra or is destined to be a wasted dropout."

He didn't have an immediate comeback.

And he grew _angry_.

"_Fuck you, you fucking dyke_!" Least to say, he didn't take that well.

"You established that presumption already."

He's always angry, always gets angry too quickly—that was one of the reasons Rainy didn't pay him much attention.

The boy leaned closer then, his lips pulling back in a snarl. "You think you're some type of high shit, huh?"

She didn't respond—just kept that cool exterior that had become default.

He was snarling now, completely lost of the suave held earlier. "And by the way, I saw you at the library that weekend, with that fucking weirdo, that herb. But if you'd rather be around trash, oh well." He shrugged. "Don't think I'm going to let you think that whatever you got going on," he swirled his finger in her direction, "isn't gong to be kept quiet. You're going to crash and burn like the freaking _bitch_ you are."

One last time, he slammed his hands on the shelf near her head, effortlessly trying to frighten her. Marcus walked off with hands in his pockets and Rainy saw that his shoes were scuffed in the back.

She would have felt disgusted.

"Pitiful."

* * *

**_A/N: I'm going to wrap this up in about five more chapters or so. _**


	32. Chapter 26: Repercussion II

"_He fucking_—-How is it something that you just let roll off—-" Pietro stopped himself, realizing what he was going to say, realizing that she doesn't necessarily care. He pouted, crossed his arms, and leaned back in his seat instead.

Rainy continued turning through the book in her hands with not a wrinkle of emotion on her face, reading to herself. "You've might've heard that Marcus is brute that has taken too many hits to the head, and doesn't think with the right one that's on his shoulders anyway. And frankly, he's a waste of time." She thought for a moment. "And effort."

"He fucking cornered you—-"

"And I got away, didn't I?" Her eyes flickered to his direction.

Notebooks and a history textbook scattered across the table, open, and forgotten as of now. This was their third meeting this week and lately, Pietro noticed that Rainy has become much more talkative, even thought most of what she said was like a knife to a throat.

They haven't returned to that library since almost being caught and found out by a trio of not-so-nice students from school. Pietro remembered how Rainy describing in detail the process how their high school lives would unravel and crumble to dust, as she said, if they were ever found out.

"If it wasn't such a big deal, then why won't you just say?"

"Because maggots are just for exterminating, not to be discussed over."

Pietro frowned.

"Besides," Rainy continued, "if he was really of any importance, than I would have told you when I started to get worried."

His frown deepened. "Only that you don't get worried, do you?"

Rainy covered her lips with a hand, imaging shock. "You found my loophole! Maybe you are smarter than I originally perceived."

He sneered. "...I'm taking it that isn't a compliment..."

Rainy shrugged.

"...We're going to have to work on toning that down."

Her bright eyes snapped toward him at lightening speed. "Work on what?"

"With you and toning that bitchy-ness down."

If she could have smiled, she would have.

Before they left that day, she stopped him, hand nuzzling her cheek and the same bored, monotone voice: "Oh, and one thing, Maximoff. We're going to meet up at my place now on. My parents aren't going to be home after school and no one from school will know."

He blinked, speechless.

"Alright?"

**_. . ._**

**_. . ._**

Ever since that day her mother came storming into the dean's office, Sherry had been looking over her shoulder because she knew that Clarice had heard—how could she _not_ have?—and Sherry was still optimistic that she'd be able to get through the week without running into that blonde _demon_; she hoped, for at least this day, and since Spirit Week was so close.

Clarice was the worst right after conflict and she had ears _all around_, and really, Sherry's only mistake was forgetting about lunchtime.

How could she have forgotten lunchtime?

Her vision spun.

_black pause scene_

It hadn't been pretty, no, and she didn't, hadn't counted the minutes of blissful peace she had before the blonde bully tracked her down, seemingly effortlessly. How Clarice had purposely sat in the table _right behind_ her with her entourage of populars—her puppets, Rainy has called them on multiple accounts because, really, that's all they were—and cackle so loudly at jokes about how stupid and _ugly_ heat-made curls were on people with red hair and how she couldn't believe someone was _so_ _weak_ to call their _mommy_ to the school.

And Sherry was too nice, too ready to think the best of, too willing to give second chances. But she also had a limit, and she's known Clarice since elementary school and through the abrupt breakup of their friendship before entering middle school.

So when she stood from the table, carton of milk in her hand, Clarice had the _gall_ to take on a look of astonishment and ask, "what do _you_ want?"

And Sherry felt that uncomfortable burning rise up her throat and she clenched her free fist at her side, and for a second, Rainy—who was watching at the opposite end of the circular lunch table—thought her friend was finally going to throw a punch. But no—instead, Sherry's narrow nostrils flared and she felt her pulse quickening and a sense of almost overwhelming irritation hit her.

"_What's your problem_?" Sherry snapped.

The two boys that were sitting near Clarice quieted and stared at Sherry with wide eyes.

"What do you mean what's _my_ problem?" Clarice's short cut bobbed as her head shook, the right side held back by a pink hair clip.

"You know _exactly_ what I mean." Sherry's heart raced because it's been so long since she's confronted her friend-turned-enemy, and it _terrified_ her. "All you do is talk behind people's back and act like a _coward_."

Clarice's thin eyebrows furrowed and arched and suddenly Sherry felt such a rush of anger, annoyance, and she became more defensive.

"I'm a coward? _I'm_ not the little _bitch _that went and cried to her _mommy_ because she couldn't grow up and take a _joke_." The blonde had slowly turned around and was getting to her feet, standing toe to toe to Sherry.

The other wanted to take an instinctive step back; she was glad that she didn't. "When does joking about someone going to go and kill themselves a joke?" Sherry's grip around her milk carton tightened and she was starting to shake from her emotions.

One of the boys who had been sitting beside Clarice glanced at another girl at the table, this one sitting across from him, and in her own seat, Rainy just blinked and returned to her lunch. This time, her mother had handed her a sandwich her father had bought and hadn't been able to give it to her himself before leaving earlier that morning.

Clarice just huffed, crossing her arms. "Since when are we in _elementary_ again and you have to go get your parents to do _everything_ for you?"

Sherry glared. Her thumb rimmed the folded, sealed opening of the carton.

Rainy wondered if she was going to pour it one the other.

"What? Are you going to go _cry_ again, Sherry?"

She didn't say anything at first and was too intent on the those closest at Clarice's table watching, staring, giggling.

"What? You're going to_ go back to mommy_?" The blonde remarked, taunting.

She stepped forward.

Sherry faltered. She took one back.

Clarice smirked.

"_I'm_ not a coward, and we've had this conversation, when? Back in _sixth grade_? When you came _crying_ because...wasn't it that your crush ended up liking _me_ instead? Or was it because I had more friends than you, perhaps because people liked _me _better?"

Sherry didn't respond.

And people were laughing, snickering, giggling—she was sure.

"What? Nothing to say?" Clarice's head tipped to the side, feigning concern. "Hm, typical. Now, if you don't mind, _I'm_ going to sit over here with the _actual _cool kids and not some knock off excuse of what you got, all full of weirdos and freaks and those uncool—but that's right up your alley, isn't it," she snickered.

And that was it; that's all that Clarice had to say. She only had to lean in, give that look with her bright eyes and once again, Sherry was back in fifth grade with everyone looking at her and laughing and Clarice just taking it in and _laughing_ with them and it hurt, it really, really hurt.

Sherry was too nice sometimes, and this is a perfect example. So close she came that she almost, could have called the other out and called her a bitch, called her fault, called her lies, but she didn't, she was too afraid.

Most times, Sherry is too afraid and hesitates too often.

**_. . ._**

**_. . ._**

Wanda doesn't like confrontation, and she can be compared to a mouse with how quiet she is. She stays to herself and rarely interacts, unless absolutely necessary, like for an assignment or lecture. That's partially how she's managed to remain unknown and off the hit-lists of bullies. But because of her tight lips and signature red jacket, she hasn't managed to fade into the background _completely_. She's moderately known for these things, and those who have talked to her on those few occasions say that she's "a nice girl, I guess," that "she doesn't speak much" and "doesn't ever really cause any trouble." In fact, if you were to ask all those with those opinions, none would ever suspect Wanda of causing a scene. She goes about her day in medium routine; she gets her books in the morning, goes immediately to class and never converses in the halls. At lunch, no one can ever find her and she'll usually be on the bleachers outside near the soccer field or in the library.

Wanda reads, but not so much as Rainy. She reads out of interest, not necessity. And really, when first looking at the mutant, she appeared nowhere intimidating or particularly brave.

Thats why Michelle thought she would be such an easy target. And as she entered history class and caught sight the unmistakable red hood, she smiled, knowing that this would be an easy opportunity. Because Wanda Maximoff wouldn't talk unless pressed and there was no way a mouse like her would ever speak up and out if she knew what was good for her.

Michelle smiled, gripping the strap of her bookbag that was slugged over her right shoulder. She slid into the desk in front of the mutant. "Hey~. Wanda, is it?"

The mutant looked up from the book in front of her. Her eyes darted to the side for a second, and she kept a placid look. She didn't answer.

"Say, I've been trying to find this girl for the longest." Michelle drew invisible claw marks on the other's desk. "Do you know a Rainy? She's in our year. Rainy Capulet?"

Wanda's brows crinkled, and her eyes squinted for a moment. She initially thought this girl was here to mock her, to tease her because of some other lie or rumor that had begun circling.

"Why?" Wanda finally spoke.

"I just said why."

Wanda hesitated. Maybe this girl didn't want to be found… "What do you want?"

"Wow. Rude." But it's obvious that Michelle wasn't fazed and didn't care. "Do you know a girl named Rainy or not?" she repeats.

And again, Wanda squinted, suspicious.

"Why?"

"Because," Michelle puts on her prized smile, "I heard that you spoke to her and she's been stabbing people in the back."

Again, Wanda hesitated to answer.

"Yeah…I did talk to her not too long ago…"

"Ok, good! Can you tell me what happened? Did she hit you, yell at you…?"

"Um, no…" Wanda then thought. "Why is that important?"

Michelle rolled her neck. "Because, she not only stabbed me and some of my friends in the backs, but she also stole my best friend's boyfriend," Michelle lied.

Wanda's lips made a small "ohh." Her eyes lowered back to her desk.

Michelle had always had her suspicions about her odd friend Rainy, and she thought whoever to go to than the closest thing to her source? It was just a shame Michelle had to lie so terribly to do so.

"So you see, right? Can you tell me what happened? What'd she say; who was she with?"

Wanda looked Michelle in the eyes. Her lips were tight and inside, she debated, conflicted. But then she remembered her brother said and the fact that she personally had never really _cared_. She didn't know why her brother insisted on being so secretive and why he was such an ass about the girl. There was oohing good about Rainy that Wanda could see and personally, Wanda thought that the girl was nothing but a magnet for bad luck—and Wand knew her bad luck! If this girl, Michelle, knew something about Rainy that would get her out of Wanda's hair, then maybe spilling a _little_ information won't hurt anyone _too_ badly.

Wanda looked back up. The bell for class to begin was going to sound in a few minutes, so she had better talk fast.

"Yeah, I do."

**_. . ._**

**_. . ._**

Mckenzie wouldn't ever call herself stickup—of course she wouldn't—but she liked her high status on the social pyramid of Sherbrooke High. She liked the attention, her friends, the perks, the ego boost from shoving over the nerds' chess boards and "accidentally" bumping into them at lunch time. She liked all of it, and swears that it kept her curly hair voluptuous. But most of all, she liked that she managed to attract the attention of the school's quarterback, Travis Montgomery. Because the boy was a golden haired, blue eyed, tall glass of almond milk with a chiseled jaw and a physique she could watch run the track all day. And she knew that if she was in any other social group, none of this would have ever been possible.

Mckenzie loved her school life and admits that it still doesn't excuse her from some of her out-of-school duties—such as her homework.

At lunch, she was never alone, and if she answered a question wrong in class, almost never did anyone taunt her for it. She and Clarice had the school eating out the palms of their hands and _everyone_ admired them, hated them, or wanted to be them.

They were the populars, so of course.

But this—this was the first time that someone _liked_ her, like, actually, _actively_ made an effort to pursue her. And at first, she found it amusing, then entertaining dragging him along, and now she hated it.

She hated the attention. She hated his loser, dopey smile and the way he pressed _so hard_ and insisted. Mckenzie hated the way her friends would now give her those knowing, mocking smirks and snicker whenever he would walk up as if he truly thought he was all-that.

She was embarrassed about it.

That's why she had asked Travis to take care of the troubling Maximoff. She found pleasure that he was just as uncomfortable about it as she and how he was very willing to make Peter Maximoff take a dive in the dumpster.

But that had been three weeks ago.

And the damn boy was back, still tightly wound and energetic and so damn determined that Mckenzie froze for a second when seeing him approach once again.

It was in the hallways during class and he had been on a restroom break and gone for water. That sly grin had begun growing growing across his face when he saw her; that heart dropping, stomach twisting feeling returned and yet, she steadied her gaze forward and held her chin high. She'd be damned if she'd let some lower level geek make _her _feel uncomfortable.

"Hey, 'Kenzie!"

She walked straight, determined to ignore him.

What kind of over confident, tacky, der-brain did he think he was? Her chin was high and he approached closer. They were just going to pass, she has told herself—or at least, she had thought.

She didn't let out a yelp when Peter hooked an arm around her waist, but some high-pitched sound did come out of her, and she became enraged. _How _dare _he?!_

"Hey, 'Kenzie," he repeats.

She snaps her head toward him and ordered, "don't call me that!" She's bristling like a cat, and he smiled widely.

"Why've you been ignoring me?"

"Don't—-!" She pushed away from him, breaking from his arm, "don't _touch _me, _nerd_!"

But he isn't fazed.

"Oh, I haven't—_yet_."

Her brows shoot up.

"I'm going to get Travis on you again if you don't leave me _alone_!"

"C'mon, doll—-"

"_Look_, I'm not your _doll_, you asswipe—-"

"Alright, 'Kenzie." Peter was smirking again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Mckenzie's gaze followed him as he made a semicircle around her. Her hands clutched to her chest and running through her mind was just _how_ she could have attracted the attention of someone like _him_. He was _weird_, annoying, and near the bottom of the social pyramid.

Peter walked around her, his hands deep in the pockets of his ripped jeans. He dipped his head once, and then spoke, "ok, but don't try and forget what happened in after that football game. I hadn't told anyone, but I doubt _Travis_ would be too pleased." And he had a wide, mischievous smile growing on his face because he knew that she had no other corners to run out from.

She fidgeted, ignored the hammering in her chest and the setting of her palms. Her brows furrowed in brief confusion at his comment, then—

"Don't call me 'Kenzie," she snapped.

* * *

**_A/N: This was supposed to show things coming together as well before everything collapses. Next chapter is planned to be majority Rainy and Pietro. Then maybe two more chapters before this whole story is over because I know everyone is sick of this but it's almost done._**


	33. Chapter 27: Riposte

**_A/N: First of all, thank you for reading this. A special thanks to Miss Sleepless for your very, very important review and I must apologize to everyone for one that this story seems to drag out, and two for not updating more regularly. My first explanation is that I _had_ to pay more attention to my classes recently since this semester was very crucial. My second is that I've had a _severe_ lack of motivation for this story. I do plan on going back over this story and correcting everything when it's done._**

**_Now for another thing: Instigator is supposed to be a sort of season 1 or book 1 and is a set up for events that happen for the sequel that takes place during Days of Future Past where there will be_ so much more _Pietro x Rainy, and where she's much nicer, and where a few characters go off the deep end_._ Instigator is closing in about three or four more chapters and I'm working on the following chapter, and I'll hopefully upload the last few without too long of a gap in between. Because I'm getting tired of it and I know you all are too._**

**_This chapter is all Pietro and Rainy. And spirit week is up next, and then the last couple are planned to be mainly Pietro and Rainy btw_**

* * *

"Ah, you're earlier than expected."

Actually, Pietro was late. After having yet another argument with his twin sister which, in turn reminded him about this meeting and followed by a scolding from Marya, he had barely made it out of the house. Only thanks to his mutant abilities was he able to arrive at the meeting place right on the dot, surprised that she hadn't lied about the location, and knocking at the girl's front door—and it's not like he was going to tell her that, anyway.

This was the day Pietro went over to Rainy's house for the first time.

"—And wipe your feet will you?" she retorted without looking back, leading him through a short hall lined with family framed portraits and awards, one of a dog.

The small home was quite quaint, he'd admit, and not the type he'd figure a girl like her would come from.

It's been a good five months and this was the closest encounter he's ever had with the shorter brunette. He's always heard things about her, talks about her, rumors of butt-hurt rejection and glorified acclaims, her biting remarks that rub the wrong way; of how the girl started track in middle school and then had to quit because of a mysterious "illness."

Now, Pietro knew better. He knew it was no illness, it never had been. But still, he can't help but wonder...

They were at the dinner table now, one of two. Rainy told that the other, more decorated one was only used for holidays and special business occasions. Her parents weren't home either.

Rainy scribbled something on her sheet of paper; Pietro wasn't paying attention to it. Her finger twitched, cutting on the edge of the page—she didn't flinch; she didn't feel it. She would need a bandaid later, he noted. A strand of dark brown hair intercepted her vision and Pietro cleared his throat.

This was a girl that he'd expect to have been brought up by bulls and wolves and the tough, gritty streets of an out of city—not some opulent, flame-stitch patterned suburban one-story home.

She said that the pictures on the wall made her sick and to not look at them.

Pietro had rolled his eyes and looked anyway.

She scribbled something else on her notebook paper.

"Say, Rainy..."

Her writing stopped. The class was three chapters until finishing the assigned novel now, and she had stated how she wanted to go over the past several chapters from the two weeks before.

"Where are your folks?"

Her bright eyes shifted up to his direction, and they were cut and slanted and reminded him of a cat's. He swallowed, deciding to add a wise-crack comment as a sort of safety net.

"So like if I smoke a doobie they won't come charging in screaming bloody murder, will they?" He chuckled. It didn't sound confident.

She paused.

"Actually, my mother has an eighth gram baggie in her top drawer if you'd want me to get you some."

"Uh—-"

_Drugs_

He was caught off guard.

She had said that so calmly!

"What of it?" She blinked.

"It's just that—-you said that so calmly, and I...!"

"Do not turn this into a schmaltz fest. You asked and I answered," she replied, tone monotone but words still cutting. "Don't get that mixed up; my personal affairs are not something I like to discuss, and it's not in any of your immediate interests." Her eyes turned back to the paper she was writing. "Do you want to smoke or not?"

She was writing answers to a math equation.

Pietro frowned; she was getting them wrong.

He hesitated. "How do you know it's not in my immediate interest?"

"Because you're... " She paused as she thought of the words to use. "You know..." Then she lied again with a straight face, like about her lack in memory. She then insulted him, and: "This is not your responsibility, it's none of your concern. And, besides, someone like you would never be able to grasp a concept outside of Blondie, marijuana, and wherever to wreak havoc next."

Ouch.

Pietro scowled. "I thought we weren't going to keep being rude," he snapped.

Rainy finished the equation on her paper and then moved on to the next. "Since how long have you had that improbable request? Whether someone chooses to express themselves is entirely up to their being, and is not something you can particularly change. To assume that would bring you terrible disappointment. And don't try any tricks 'cause I'm no different—it's not like you can really change anything, anyway." She typed into her calculator, wrote down the answer. "The past is done."

"I'm not talking about anyone—I'm talking about you, and—-"

"And that's where you will keep being disappointment." He watched her erased her answer and delete the information from the calculator. "Make sure to get comfy so you both can get better acquainted."

"That's only if you've never tried. I'd bet that you've never even tried!"

"You're right. I haven't."

"Exactly! How do you even know?"

"Don't spend the money 'til you've robbed the bank."

"What?"

"That means don't assume that you'll get the things you want until you have them. You can't be sure of anything until it happens. Have you really never heard of that before?"

There was a pause.

"Of course you haven't..."

Pietro grew frustrated. "What does that mean?"

And Rainy blinked. "It's not important."

He grunted, demanding more than asking what she mean. And she replied that she didn't want him to override his mental capacity.

Rainy Capulet was hard-boiled, brash, and bruising.

"Don't keep asking questions to something that doesn't concern you. You might not like the answer."

Pietro's jaw was offset, his molars grinding.

She was rude, unforgiving unless she had to, and unapologetic.

"Do you want a drink? You look parched."

And after barely an hour of attempting to do homework, she showed him the kitchen.

"I'm not having my father find a half-dead pot-smoker on our floor from hunger when he gets back. Your stains would never be able to come out the carpet..."

"I don't think that's how it works—-"

"Ah, I guess you're right."

He paused. "I thought you didn't care about what your father did or thought."

"I don't. That still hasn't changed."

At least she wasn't a bad host—definitely not the best out there, not nearly one of the best—but she wasn't _bad_.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

_red pause scene_

This house was larger than the one Rainy grew up in, but it had a terrible view. When she was smaller, she had had a clear view of the moon which would illuminate her room at night and provided light to read after her bedroom lights were cut off. Now, however, power lines and street poles obscured the view.

It was growing dark outside.

Pietro should have to been heading home.

"My mother got roped in this sorta group when she and my father fell apart."

There have been tv spots aired about her father's campaign; it was no doubt that everyone in school has seen them at least once.

"But they looked so happy on tv—-"

"They're supposed to. Do you not know the concept of campaigning?" It was a rhetorical question.

_black pause scene_

"Anyways, it was around the age of ten I was when I found my mother with another man in her room. I didn't see his face—not this one—but it had been the third time I was awoken at night. And I remember—-I remember seeing the two of them sitting on my parent's bed, talking, luckily at the moment. But still. I didn't say anything. Even today she probably doesn't know that I knew. But my father took it well—at least I thought he did. The coward—he just seemed to ignore it, not even tried to intervene."

"Your parents," Pietro had asked.

"Those two people you saw in the pictures—the deadbeat and the asshole in the suit."

_Man in a suit and briefcase_

_Woman in an unbuttoned housecoat, weed cigarette between her fingers_

When Rainy met Pietro at the door of her parents' house, there had been pictures lining the hallway wall there.

"Don't look at them," she had ordered.

He rolled his eyes and didn't listen.

It was getting late. Marya wouldn't mind if he missed dinner again; there was almost always leftovers.

Earlier, the two sat at the table in the dinning room. Rainy turned a page in the novel they were assigned to read. "What place are you at," she had asked, not looking up, wearing a rather bored expression.

Pietro didn't respond. He sat crosslegged, fingers digging into his knees. He took a daring breath.

"I gotta ask," he breathed. "You said you can't feel anything, right? So what exactly...how exactly did—-_why_ are you so weird?"

Rainy blinked. She didn't answer for some time.

"That's something you don't need to concern yourself with," she had said in the beginning but he soon got her to speak.

_black pause scene_

Now, she stared at the open novel in front of her, eyes glazed and far in thought as she recalled the memory of how her unfortunate condition began.

"It wasn't long until after that she roped me into her plans," Rainy continued about her mother. "But... I found out that my parents weren't on disagreeing terms like I had thought, and they weren't getting a divorce. But the group that my mother got involved with, the one where she gets her lovers and weed from, she wanted me to become a part of it. And when I refused, it all backfired. That's when I met a shaman at a carnival and wished it all to go away, that I didn't have to feel my mother's disappointment anymore. What cruel, irony. Be careful of how you word your wishes, Maximoff."

Pause.

"You're speaking really lighthearted about all this." He didn't know whether to become concerned or—

Who was he kidding?

"Well how do you expect me to reply? To scream or grow angry? Sorry, I don't have that ability, like you, when you confronted your sister the other day—"

When Pietro had thrown his sister's back against the lockers  
When he found out that she revealed to some girl—  
Michelle—  
That he and Rainy had been hanging out after school, studying  
and Wanda's eyes had glown red.

_YELLING_

They had almost yelled in the quiet hallway

"—or when you apparently tried to win over Mckenzie. You like her don't you? They talk about you. A lot, her group does."

_"Don't call me 'Kenzie!"_

"I'm afraid I don't think she's your type though."

_How did she know about that?_

"Who's to say I should trust anything of what_ you_ _think_?"

"Hm. Good point."

Silence filled the room again. This was the longest time the room has been this quiet around them.

Rainy looked to the clock high on the wall; one of her parents should be getting home in the next half-hour.

Her eyes rolled over to look in his direction. "Why do you like her though?"

"That's none of your business," he snapped. "Why should I tell _you _anything?"

Rainy blinked. "I dunno." She paused, thinking. "It's just that...if you are...if you're planning on at least trying to snag a girl's heart, you shouldn't do it when her current boy toy is around."

Pietro paused. "Boy toy...?"

"Yes, do you really not know? Mckenzie never keeps her relationships serious. She's a busy woman. ...That was a joke."

Pietro didn't reply.

"If you want any girl, if you want to woo any girl—no matter how absurd—first, you'd have to be confident. Show her what you mean and—-"

"Why should I listen to you? Bet you got that all from some book, didn't you?"

Rainy didn't miss a beat. "Yes I did."

He scoffed. "Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

He jabbed a finger in her direction. "Why should I listen to advise from someone so inexperienced—-"

"Don't point at me. I don't want to be infected with your virgin."

He was appalled. "That's not even a thing!"

She continued: "And what made you think I'm inexperienced?" she questioned. "I certainly have more experience than you; I've had more dates than you've probably been kissed, which I'd guess hasn't been since, what, third grade?"

"How can you even do anything when you can't _feel_?"

"And you don't need emotions to have experience."

Pause.

"Well I'm pretty sure my Kenzie isn't going to be like any of that," Pietro insisted.

Rainy mused. "I wouldn't be too sure."

He crossed his arms and that snarky smirk returned. "I don't care what you think, Juliet. Just watch."

Rainy looked to the page full of math problems in front of her. She was almost certain that most of them were wrong.


	34. Chapter 28: Spirit Day

Today was the day.

Sherbrooke High was a boisterous, vibrant, spirited mess, and the students were not holding back. The campus rippled and was animated, and _alive_. It was as if the school colors had been puked all over campus, and confetti had already begun littering the lawns. Students in bandanas, cut-up shirts and acid washed ripped denim, and face-paint mingled, gossiped, and planned activities for the late evening though it had only been two class periods in that day.

This was the first day of Spirit Week at Sherbrooke High.

Girls hooked their arms around those of their boyfriends. Friends came in matching shirts or plastic jewelry or body paint. The janitors took extra breaks in the break rooms, listening to the radio. Teachers that weren't in the mood scolded and complained to the students, words that went in one ear and out the other.

Meisha stared up at the painted banner hanging through one of the school hallways and she griped the strap of her book bag tighter. The banner had lost one of its six pieces of duct tape holding it up, and it's hand-painted words echoed in a thunder in her mind: Bring a date for spirit week!

Bring a date!

A date...

A date

That girl—Sherry—had brought Meisha along and the two had gone shopping last weekend, and Meisha was now dressed in a white shirt with _SPIRIT_ painted across the front, a colored scrunchie hair bow, and face-paint. She hoped Sherry was in matching attire.

Today was the day and she hoped she wasn't going to be stood up. Today was supposed to be the turning point of her young teenage life.

Her hair was up in a braided bun.

And she was so afraid.

Meisha's hair twitched, an agitated coiled snake.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Tuesday

Wanda is avoiding her brother since that day they crossed in between classes. She avoided the halls he usually goes down, and she continued to not eat lunch in the cafeteria—not like all this really affected that, but still. At dinner, she hadn't even looked at him. She was sure that Marya has caught on that there was some kind of animosity between the twins but so far only their youngest sister had spoken on it.

Marya continued on that whatever happened between them is their business; she wouldn't pry unless she felt that she absolutely _had_ to, and thought that it endangered others.

Marya interferes between the twins regularly.

Pietro runs away and Wanda doesn't tell about their rude meeting in the hallways.

_Pietro slammed Wanda's back against the lockers.  
He had been angry, obviously  
because Wanda had told about him and Rainy  
_

_Why?_

_"But why was he so mad?"_

Wanda had Michelle for third, fourth, and fifth period class and she hadn't figured completely out _how_ she was going to confront the girl.

She thought that it's regret, it's repentance that scratches at her gut and there consciousness. Wanda doesn't exactly say anything about or against it.

Michelle had said something about a party at Clarice's boyfriend's house. Wanda wasn't sure if that was an invite or not.

Before P.E., Wanda ran into Troy outside the gym and they exchange smiles and he complimented her hair and she about his play in basketball, and she swears that he's sending some kind of inviting signal with that smirk of his and baby blue eyes, and Wanda almost ran into the door.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Wednesday

Ronny didn't return that day either. Something about him being sick Pietro thought his mother had said—he can't remember exactly. He hadn't really paid attention.

Ronny's probably chickened out again, he thought, the countdown of Spirit Week having begun. And Ronny's mother, Mrs. De Gallo, was exaggerating again, no doubt.

In fact, the boy is lying at home right now and still under his blankets. His mother was at his bedside pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. Ronny felt so _cold_—almost too cold—even though his blankets had been tucked under his chin for over two hours.

He hadn't woken up either. When Ronny's mother had come in, shaking him to wake for school, Ronny had merely mumbled something and didn't even open his eyes. After realizing her son was indeed not playing some sort of prank, that's when she became concerned.

The doctor was on the other end of the phone now, and according to the thermometer between Ronny's lips, he was about seventy-two degrees.

She doesn't realize that that is the temperature the house's A/C is set on.

_**.**_

Rainy knows that she is considered plain and lackluster. That her..._condition_ causes her to come a beat late with jokes and to take a day off when she cuts herself because she wouldn't find it until minutes or sometimes _hours_ later when there's blood trickling down her forearm or finger because it's not healing quick enough.

Rainy knows that her condition gets in the way. Like when Sherry came up to her, asking why Rainy wasn't dressed up. She couldn't explain why she wasn't in school spirits—but Sherry figured it out already. Rainy's excuse is that she's never in spirits.

Sherry was disappointed but said that she hoped her friend would come around.

Rainy thought about that night at the carnival, when she didn't word her wish right and it turned on her.

She knew that her excuses were running out, that her clock was ticking.

**_. . .  
. . ._**

Thursday

Rainy doesn't see Michelle again until close to lunch. She isn't wearing any school colors that don't happen to be on the tye-dye t-shirt she is wearing and a girl at Michelle's side almost _sneers_ when they walk up to each other. And unexpected, there is an added member to Michelle's usual threesome of girls. Rainy doesn't know what to make of it when she stops in front of Michelle and her friends—Rainy's friends too is things had ever gone differently—and she spotted the famed red hood and pare of deep brown pools underneath, chocolate hair pouring out from the sides of the jacket.

Rainy would have sneered is what she would have done.

Michelle smirked and told that she's made a new friend, and since Rainy is such a party-pooper, had asked Wanda here if she'd like to go with them.

Wanda is already wearing a plain white shirt that one of the other girls, a red-bone named Janet, has scribbled on in Sharpie marker to match theirs.

"But, I mean, you can come too of course, Rainy. Like, if you want."

She declined.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Friday

In fifth period history with Mr. Green, Clarice stood up in her chair and announced the location of the Spirit Week house party is at her boyfriend's house.

"And you all are invited! Unless you're some herb or weirdo, of course."

A girl from her cliche sniggered beside her. One of the boys who follow them around raised his eyebrow, worried, expecting.

Clarice sighed and pouted. "I guess some burnouts can come too."

The boy relaxed.

And word spread like wildfire, as expected.

Michelle invites Wanda to meet up at the McDonald's on 23rd to go with them.

The party was held at Clarice's boyfriend's house, by much—and quite easy—convincing from Clarice. Everyone was there—everyone whom she and Mckenzie deemed important and _popular_ enough. Most of the school was there.

The parents of Clarice's boyfriend were gone on a business trip and should be back in three days. And that night, everyone came, still dressed up.

Speakers bumped out loud bass and teenagers were dancing, smoking, playing games—poker, monopoly, black jack—and the doorbell rang.

Clarice rose from the beaten, sunken couch and sashayed over to the door, her sparkling, frilly skirt and glitter on her face gleaming in the low lights. She wore rings on each hand and her blonde hair was fashioned with a thick piece of fabric tied into a loose bow. She opened the front door to a pizza delivery man holding six large boxes. Clarice flashed a smile and slipped the dollar bills into his breast pocket, giving it a quick tap. The pizza would be gone in twenty minutes.

Today was Spirit Day, the Friday of Spirit Week and this was the biggest party of the year. It always was.

In the living room, a girl jumped to the beat, a drink in one hand, and she's too drunk to realize when a bit spills onto her platinum hairdo. Through the window of a spare room, nerds tried to climb through the window; some succeeded, some were caught, one sped through at superhuman speed as the front door closed and the pizza man left.

On the dance floor, Mckenzie shimmied beside a guy with a letterman jacket and sunglasses. The song changed and the beat increased, and the boy asked her if she wanted to go to the back to smoke.

Of course she said yes.

Because the boy was cute and he could dance—no, he was handsome, and his physique was one that she was craving.

Mckenzie trailed her finger down his chin. "Say, why do you wear those glasses inside? You look..." She paused, looked like she was about to burp. "_S__tupid_," she laughed.

"Because you ladies would die from all of my handsome," he responded, sliding the glass door open to another room.

She swayed; she has had too much to drink.

The boy whose name she's already forgotten, hands her rolled marijuana. They go through two when he tried to kiss her.

"You know I have a boyfriend, right?" she cats.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

Mckenzie thought for a moment, the best way she could through the intoxication, which is not very much. "Nope," she shrugged, popping the 'p.'

The room inhabits four others, one being another girl who walks out a minute later.

And Mckenzie's vision is hazy, the boy with the bloodshot eyes and smoke in his mouth is leaning closer, closer...

He's kissing her. Mckenzie shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be here. She should be at home in bed, her homework done, warm blankets around her. She shouldn't be kissing boys in dim lighting and narcotic residue still on their lips. She shouldn't be kissing boys she didn't even know. She shouldn't be with people she didn't really know. But Mckenzie Shabotz is popular and she felt like she could have everything she wanted.

But she didn't know any better, certainly not now. Like, she didn't expect the boy to be so rough with his hand on her arm when she decided to leave. Nor, him trying to block her in the small den-room, trapping her, threatening her.

She fussed, and then whined, but the boy's mind was cloudy and he was selfish. She was only lucky that a tall, teen walked by in worn silver sneakers, hair glistening in the dim lights and ganja roach between his fingers was walking by.

The boy trapping her was grabbed by the shoulders and thrown across the room.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Sherry takes her first two shots around 11:20 at night. The alcohol is strong and it burned going down, turning into a smooth warmth as it hit her stomach.

She slammed the glass down and showed that she's drank it all, to prove for the heck of it that she's done it like a trooper and can party with the lot of them.

Sherry doesn't smoke, she isn't too flashy, and this is what she can do, what she does.

Her date, her Spirit Week partner had turned down the invite for the party—not that she had been exactly invited but Sherry was going to bring Meisha anyway—told that partying was not really her thing and had opted to stay at home.

Sherry then challenges a boy a foot taller than her and smelling like mint gum to a drinking contest.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Rainy stared at the poster stapled high to the wooden post. _Balzani's Eccentric Carnival_ it read in loud, bold text. Tickets were bought on the other side of town.

The last time she's been to there had been with Sherry and another friend of theirs, and it hadn't ended well.

Rainy looked down again at the bus fair in her hand. The next showing would be in two hours. She could catch the bus and make it in time.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

_black pause scene_

"Hey, I know _you_. You're—whazz-yer-name... You're kinda cute~" Mckenzie fisted the shirt of the tall teen she leaned into, her head bobbing slightly. She was in a different room now, she could tell, this one occupied too and is not far from the main living area. "You...what's your name...you're in my history class! I know you!"

Pietro stared at her in surprise. "Cute?" The bass pulsated through the air and Mckenzie's gaze wavered and Pietro's stomach clenched. "Yeah, sure, why not."

"Thanks. And..._thanks_ with that _jerk_ back there. He was a real bohunk." She ruffled her already teased dark umber hair. "When you came in—that—that was _fast_. Are you always that fast? That was something. Do...do you fuck really fast? That'd be kinda fun..." Her brows raise and she bites her bottom lip, giggling.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked, assuming that he knew what she wanted.

"Oh, I definitely would. A girl could really...really, um, really find that kind of a turn on..." A chuckle escaped her as she looked up at the boy. He felt her hand slid up, down over his shirt, clearly feeling him up.

Pietro licked his lips. He took a drag from the roach in his free hand, the other slung around Mckenzie's shoulders. He pulled her closer.

"I'm Mckenzie...but you already know that, don't you?" She chuckled. "Of course you do because _I'm popular_. But my best friends call me 'Kenzie. Or," she hooked her fingers around his shirt collar, tugging him down a bit, "those _real_ _special_ do." He looks surprised and she found it amusing. "So, I know what _you_ can do, but you have no idea what _I_ can do." She smirked. "This should be interesting..."

"So..." He took another drag. "am _I_ special, _'Kenzie_?"

"That depends..."

"On what?"

"On..._things_. But you're, like, kinda the cutest guy here," she cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And I like cute guys."

"Well, yeah, duh. I'm the best," he smirked.

She still had her finger curled around his shirt collar, and upon his remark, she chuckled, tugged a bit closer. Her eyes flickered to his throat and down for a second as she began walking backwards. "Oh, big guy... I actually find that pretty attractive."

"Oh really? Is that so?"

"Yeah. _But_, would you be able to compensate, fast boy?" Her words continued to slur.

They were stumbling toward one of the hallways, the sound of the music fading and those of other voices drifted in from the extra rooms they passed. A game room, bedrooms.

"I bet that would be a really quick fuck, too?" Her hand curled into a fist as she brought him closer to where their noses were centimeters away.

"Not necessarily," he breathed. "I can go slow when I want to."

"We'll why don't we try that out?" Her chain tilted, her lips reaching the slightest, teasing.

He knew how drunk she was, he knew that she was close to completely wasted, if not already. And he knew that he was high off his ass. "Do you usually fuck guys you've just met?" His chest is heaving. A scene like this has only happened in his _dreams_, and now here they were...

"We'll if I find them really attractive I do."

"And just how attractive do you find me?" His gray hair shone almost white in the low lighting.

"On a scale of one to ten, I have to say five. No I'm kidding, you're a nine. And I'm the one _you_ need."

"Well, aren't _you_ a smooth talker?" Dimples show as his lips curl into a sloppy smile.

Both were drunk, intoxicated, and aroused.

"I've been known to have a silver tongue myself," he chimed, smoking coming out from his mouth.

She gives him a rough jerk forward, and he almost clashed into her. Instead, her mouth ghosts teasingly against his. "Wanna prove that?" Her lips were glossed, seducing, inviting.

"I dunno, do I?" His throat was drying and his pants were growing uncomfortably tight.

"You tell me." Her nose bounced off of his.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. I don't really know."

She jerks him forward again and this time he does crash onto her mouth. When they pull away mere secondly later, she had a finger wiping at the edge of her glossed mouth. When he leaned in again, eagerly, his puckered lips meet her open palm, she's speaking something about doubting his skills.

"Well, if you don't, I have places I could be."

She bit her lip. "So I'm not important?" she pouted, scooting a bit closer, fingers tangling in his hair, chests touching.

"You're the one being indecisive."

She leaned up on tiptoes, leaning in to kiss him, slowly and this time biting at his bottom lip. She smelled like alcohol and he pulled back.

"Yeah. If you want me, come and get me."

"Okay." He smirked. And then he could taste the watermelon lip gloss smooshing against his lips, on his tongue. "Hmmm…now we're talking... "

"Alright, now can we?" She looked down suggestively and smiled slightly. Her chin motioned down the hall behind her.

His grip on her sides tightened. "I'm hardly stopping you."

"Good."

He murmured an "uh huh."

Mckenzie chuckled, grabbing his hand as she led him behind a door to another room. As soon as she closed the door behind her, he realized how dark it was inside and brushed along the walls for a light switch. He doesn't get far as he is then pushed up against the wall, Mckenzie beginning an urgent French kiss, and as Pietro steadied himself with his arms out, he realized the little space that they had to move, and he wondered if he should suggest finding an _actual_ room to occupy.

But she had him in another steaming kiss, and he was _pretty sure_ he wouldn't have been able to make it down the hall to another room, or break his thoughts from the hand reaching down his pants.

He does jump, but she smiled and begins sloppily exploring the inside of his mouth again.

His hands moved down her back before resting on her hips. And soon, she had his shirt bunched up around his throat as she worked on leaving a hickie there.

"You have no idea how badly I want you right now," she purred, lips moving up to his ear now, biting gently at his earlobe and earning a low moan before returning to his neck.

"Oh, m-me neither, doll." He groaned again at her teeth on his skin. He listened to her keen as she pressed her lower stomach to his groin.

Yep, he could work with this.

The hand that wasn't down the front of his pants lifted to his shoulder, giving her better leverage to push herself against him. Her occupied hand wrapped around him and started to slowly move inside the confines of his jeans.

Pietro's breath hitched. He hadn't expected her to be this forward but he liked it. Having far less experience and feeling _quite_ overwhelmed, he couldn't concentrate on much then her rough strokes and her teeth on his jugular. Eventually, the mutant's fingers slowly crept under her shirt and moved up her back. Then the kiss broke, her lips now moving over his neck, kissing and licking lightly as one of his hands moved to tangle in hair, her tongue trailing down his chest, over his stomach, around his naval...

The sound of metal and leather unbuckling was drowned out by the music. Both of Pietro's hands found their way into her hair as his pulse raced.

Mckenzie's lips were glossed and smooth and _pleasurable_.

Pietro's mouth dropped opened, in-taking a partially shocked, partially exhilarated gasp. His head fell against the back wall with a bang, the moan he released was unintentionally ugly and _loud_.

His Adam's apple bobbed and he forced his eyes open to look down at her when she performed a movement that made him grasp desperately and pitifully at the walls, his breaths coming out unsteady and labored.

Almost ten minutes later, the closet door will swing open to Clarice's boyfriend holding a half empty bottle of vodka, wide eyed and—

He smirked, giving a whooping chuckle.

Pietro hurriedly pulled his up jeans from around his ankles.

Clarice was walking by and looked over her boyfriend's shoulder, catching Pietro stuffing his boxers in his jeans and doing his belt, and Mckenzie standing up from the floor.

Clarice screamed.

**_. . .  
. . ._**

Wanda wondered into the kitchen at the house party. She had gotten separated from her date—one of the girls in Michelle's friend group—and she couldn't find the girl anywhere.

Wanda heard that Troy was going to be here at the party, and she hoped that she would run into him. She had already looked in two spare rooms and through the sweating bodies in the living room. That's when she wondered into the kitchen, though it had been more for a nonalcoholic drink for herself.

There, Wanda did find Troy, and he was leaned against the counter, an opened bottle of Coors beer in one hand, the other hooked around the waist of a blonde. The mutant watched as he squeezed the blonde's ass, earning a giggling squeal, before motioning elsewhere with his chin. Wanda watched the blonde return his lust-eyes and nodded.

Wanda's stomach clenched. Her heart dropped and she felt her eyes beginning to sting. As se backed out of the dimly lit kitchen, she counted backwards from one thousand, hoping that she would remain calm—though her inside felt to have been yanked out.

The rims of her pupils began to glow the familiar dark pink-red hue in the dim light, matching her dangling earring.


	35. Chapter 29: Coming To Light

_**A/N: There's a small part I forgot to add last chapter. It was about Rainy getting tickets to that carnival she mentioned.**_

* * *

Rainy sneezed.

"I feel like someone has said something bad about me."

Pietro stopped writing and stared, deadpanned. "Can you _not_ be over the top? It's really starting to be a total bunk.."

She huffed and continued writing in cursive in her notebook, the pencil strokes undisturbed. "Says the one who got an entire half of the popular population to come after them. That wasn't very smart, Maximoff."

The Spirit Week party had recently happened  
where Rainy didn't go but Pietro did, and she returned hearing  
how he froze, screamed, and now the entirety of Clarice's popular gang has ill or bitter feelings toward him  
Something about being in the closet and neon pink hand gloves

He wanted to slam his head on the table. "Why are you saying it like it was _my_ fault?" he sighed.

Rainy's cheek rested on her fist, a position he noticed she had to carefully coordinate. "According to all accounts, all fingers point towards you, so, of course I'm going to assume that it was another one of your haywire delinquent schemes gone wrong. Is that wrong?"

"Only..._it wasn't!_" he groaned, voice muffled by the thick table wood. "And uh, _yeah_, it all is incorrect. Nothing that happened went particularly _wrong_."

The two were back at Rainy's home. It's been almost two weeks since the party—it would be two weeks in three days—and as Pietro studied the girl across from him, he wasn't entirely sure _why_ he had come. He had convinced himself that it was because of the homework—they had developed a routine after all, a sort of study group—that she'd help him ace the coming science exam and math test since their past English assignment had been some of the best grades Pietro had earned, and that math wasn't her _strongest_ suit.

No, Pietro _knew_ that math wasn't her best. He's seen her write and then erase problem after problem, sometimes the same one changed three or four times before getting it right. Sometimes he would watch her when he thought she didn't notice. He took pride in it, almost, that her own would not convince her that she needed help.

And midterms were coming up.

Sometimes he wondered why he put up with her tongue lashes and indifferent attitude. But then, he'd find himself wondering over here again.

He wondered why he decided to tell her what had happened—not like he _needed_ to tell her much, given how walls talk. He was partially glad that she didn't get riled up, unlike his sister had been. In fact, he had barely seen his twin since the week before the party...

Sometimes, Pietro found himself watching as if studying her—Rainy—and her _oddness_, wondering how she had lasted this long like this, numb and deaden; watch the bends of her elbow, the sleekness of her hands, the swells of her breasts_—the swells of her breasts_—and the expanse of her neck, her full lips, her dark hair that was in need of a trim that was beginning to fall in her eyes. Rainy had nice handwriting too, he saw.

And she wasn't writing anymore, he saw. Her hand were still and her lips were moving as she read something aloud...

Oh, she was speaking again.

"You aren't a very good listener, are you? You don't have a problem with perception, do you? You'd want to work on that before graduation."

"Why're you talking about graduation? We have two more years until that shit-show." He grumbled, scribbling something in his textbook. His brows were drawn together again and she took notice.

"You're getting upset... Is it because you think you won't walk? Or is it because you're afraid?"

"No!" he snapped. "I ain't afraid of anything!"

"Then do you think it'll be difficult for someone of your status position?"

"Status position?" He raised a finger. "Watch the bitchy-ness, betty."

"You're right. Perhaps I was getting ahead of myself."

He scoffed.

"How would you feel if I won't be as honest next time? Would it be better if I sugarcoat it?"

"That's not what I meant!"

_black pause scene_

Rainy was barefoot, he watched. When she stepped on a splinter, she didn't feel it.

The sun would be setting soonm

"You had really good points on the last exam. Then what's the point of helping you with homework if whenever you come over, all you do is daydream and you never even work on it?"

He shrugged. They were out on the off ground back patio eating popsicles. Pietro's swung his legs as he talked. He was the only one wearing shoes, in case he had to sprint out.

"Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But then I realized—I really don't care."

Rainy's eyes were cat-like and bright as they moved toward him. "I can tell by your hair you don't seem to care about much."

"What about my hair? What's wrong with my hair?" She had hit a nerve; his hands flew to his head.

"It's made up of tinsel and...silver linings."

He sneered. "Yeah? Well your hair is..."

He blanked.

_Uh oh_

She blinked, cheek still on her fist. She was going to have a print of her knuckle there later. She blinked, bright gaze unwavering.

It's been more than a week since Spirit Day

_Think, Pietro. Think!_

"Pretty..." he blurted, and the room's silence drew on.

He cursed under his breath, mentally kicking himself.

Rainy blinked.

"Thanks, but I'm still not making you a cheat sheet."

"_Aw_—come _on_! Please? Pretty please? ..._Pretty please_ with a cherry on top?"

"No. Lay or die in the bed you made and figure this out on your own. Own up to your words that you don't need my help then." She was daring him, he knew it.

"You can be really cruel sometimes, you know that? Wait, so let's say—theoretically speaking of course—I _do_ study and get a good grade on this exam, then will I, _maybe_, get a little something in return?" He was grinning like a jackel. She thought about the rows of terth he had and thought they seemed too many.

Her lips made a smacking sound letting go of the popsicle. "No." Her tone was curt and abrasive. "You've already had. You can't teach a dog if you give it treats for doing nothing."

"A dog?" Then he thought. "What do you mean by treats?"

"I mean by the way you and Mckenzie were at the party. Was she not with you?" Rainy was looking at him now, eyes sharp and cutting. She should have been glowering, yelling in his ear.

Pietro didn't have a quick comeback for once. His head lolled to the side in annoyance, popsicle dripping to the wooden patio floor. He groaned.

"Don't be too surprised that I know. I mean, about everyone at school knows. You were with Mckenzie, after all. The poor girl is still in tears I hear—not by you, though, I mean. No offense."

For as far as he knew, Pietro hasn't seen much of Mckenzie aside from at a distance, and he wasn't sure how to go about this. The memory was all a haze of booze and smoking and bass pounding through the air, a sudden rush down his spine...

"You really need to work on your offenses then. Maybe that'll be what we work on tomorrow."

"I don't think we have ti—-"

"Yes, tomorrow. Because you need to learn some manners," he jabbed his finger at her again.

"Not with your grades like this. And until you learn to get them up, maybe by that time everyone would have forgotten about your lack of stamina." She saw him cringe. "Then maybe you'll make enough time to consider other things on your schedule."

"Uh—-"

"And by everyone knows, I do mean everyone. At least, all those who are popular and well-known—meaning Clarice, her boyfriend, Mckenzie's boyfriend, their few groupies, a few on the sports teams—-"

"Wait—-"

"Not me though. I heard from Michelle—an associate of mine you, could say. She invited this other girl who I'm guessing knows you—like your sister or cousin or whatever—to the party, but that's not the point."

"Um—-"

"The point is that you shouldn't compare me to your little boy toys. Now, I don't care who you go around and screw, but don't mix up kindness with helpfulness. Especially me."

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Since when was the last time _you_ were _kind_?"

Rainy paused. She looked off to the side. Her mouth parted. She thought back, a while back, a week back.

She wasn't sure.

"Figures," he mumbled.

_**. . .  
**__**. . .**_

_red pause scene_

"Would you say that that's the proper usage of the word ironic? I forget the name… Spontaneity I believe it was, or something like that. But Danse Macabre sounds about right! I've never heard a less macabre danse."

"That doesn't sound too flattering, Rain."

"It's not. Maybe you are starting to pick up on things. Like, similar things in thinking."

"Yeah…probably _not_."

They were back at the table and the sun had begun to sink in the sky. The subject was science now and they were passing a study guide back and forth. After complaining that she was going far too slow, Pietro took on the responsibility of completing the worksheet, and then to flipping through the textbook himself when Rainy wasn't going fast enough. By now, she had gotten another popsicle and was watching him complete the work without help for once.

They've been here for two hours now.

"Don't try and make some kind of mushy bonding thing now. I know 'bout girls like you."

She paused, slurping.

"And what type of girls is that?"

Her popsicle was red this time, and it was staining her lips. Pietro licked his own and then focused back on her eyes and then the textbook and trying to control his speed at flipping the pages.

"Girls who don't know how to be nice, selfish, who are a cold, and are quite a letdown. To be frank, straight up bitches."

She slurped once, licking the falling juices. "I could say the exact same for you."

Now he frowned. She continued eating, her look unchanging, challenging.

Then, her stomach growled, breaking the silence and Pietro jumped. And it was unexpected, seemed so foreign and _loud_—because Rainy can't _feel_, so _how_ can she...?

He blurted, asking what the sound was, almost yelling. And as nonchalant as always, she spoke, shrugging. "My stomach."

"What the fr—please tell me you felt _that_? That was _massive!_"

She actually had to think about it for a moment. "Barely. Why?"

His face wiped clean. "That's just sad..."

Her popsicle was half eaten; she didn't feel the drop of juice trailing down her chin. He gestured at her face to wipe it but she didn'tcomprehend the hint.

"How's it sad? Why are you seeming surprised—-?"

"Because you can't—-do you even _feel_ food?"

"Why would I feel food?"

"You know what I mean," he spoke sharply. "Do you even _taste_ it? When it goes down... Like, do you even _enjoy_ it?"

Again, she didn't get it. Everything was a combination of ration and reality, of science and common sense and observation—no _feelings_. "I don't know. Not really. I mean, I can't feel anything outside, but everything inside is pretty faint." She then paused, thinking, and surprisingly , he remained silent, honestly interested. "To be honest, that's the only way I've been able to stay sane, I think. I know the feeling's faint, like, hardly there, but the fact that I could feel something...I think that's the reason why I haven't gone completely crazy..."

SILENCE

Pietro blinked. His brows were drawn together.

"What?"

"...That's...that's the saddest thing I've ever heard."

Rainy would have rolled her eyes.

"You've heard stomachs before. Mine isn't different; you've heard it before."

He shook his head. "No I haven't." It all was hitting him now—now, truly, because he wasn't thinking about himself, about the money he could fill his pockets with. "You—-you can't do _anything_, eat anything. Do you even know what pizza tastes like? A double cheeseburger?"

"I do, but I can't remember. I don't have trouble eating, you know."

"But—-!"

"And unless you find some cure for it, don't keep whining about it."

He paused, unsure of how to take those words.

The pause drew on for an entire four minutes, which was a feat for him, until he broke it: "Is that what you would like?"

"Like what?"

"Like...like _you know_. ...Would you like to _feel_ again?"

It was Rainy's turn to freeze stock still, quizzing, calculating, thinking, trying find out why he was asking. "Why? ...What would you care?"

"Because that's a sad tragedy for no one to be able to eat a nice, delicious food and have no clue what they're missing. No, but really, what caused all..." His hand gestured to her in circles. "All _this_?" She asked what _this_ was and he elaborated: "What cursed you? How'd you loose all feeling?"

Most of the wooden stick was showing from the popsicle. "Why would you think that is any of your business?"

Pietro shrugged. "Because I'm curious. And honestly, how many other people have asked. How many people do you think would ask?"

There weren't many. She actively kept this secret from her mother, her family, Sherry, anyone at school. She's faked injuries at school, faked illnesses, hunger, cramps. The only emotions she's been able to emit were rejection, annoyance, negative.

"How many people do you think would ask?"

There weren't many.

NONE

The dinning room was silent once more.

"I told you, I went to a carnival and some knockoff shaman took all my feeling and emotion—-"

"What carnival?"

She paused. The ticket was still in her jacket pocket she forgot to take out and was with her dirty clothes. She had never gone to the carnival—had gotten on the bus, but only bought the ticket. She didn't know why.

"_Rainy_." Pietro ground his teeth. "What carnival?"

She paused; she studied his eyes. His brows were drawn together, his eyes dark, concentrating, serious. It was different.

"It's called Balzani's Eccentric Carnival, House of Miracles and Oddities is the part were I went to. They come every three years. When I went to go see them, I was wearing this necklace." She was wearing the same golden locket necklace

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Rainy's father came home an hour later and the house was empty inside, beside for her. The glow of the tv screen illuminated the otherwise dark living room, microwaved television dinner in front of her, and she told him that her mother was still out.

Her father gave her a pat on the head as he passed. Rainy's look didn't change—cool, condescending, bored, indifferent.

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

When Pietro left, Rainy had told him to climb out the window the side of the house, hearing a car pull up in the driveway. He had tried to smile, had felt something warm swirling in him—he was thinking it was digestion—and there was something about the carnival on the edges of his lips ready to be spoken, but he was already outside and she had slammed the window closed and he was left to listen to the locks click and her pull the curtains close. He stood there listening. A car engine turn off, the car door slam, and the front door open. Rainy turned on the television. There were mumbles of conversation inside.

Pietro sighed, and with it he felt an emotion fleeting, an opportunity wasted. He didn't know what it was.

He also didn't know that there was a strawberry blonde walking up the sidewalk who had stopped and was staring, frozen, hazel eyes and mouth wide open, who had just seen it all—of him climbing out the downstairs window, of the curtains being drawn, of Pietro's guilty-stricken face.

His hands flew up in defense.

* * *

**_A/N: I'm thinking of getting rid of Mckenzie by the end of this. Yes?_**

**_There are two more chapters planned for this. Also like I said earlier, please excuse the craziness of this so far because I do plan on going back and editing it when I'm completely finished. _**


	36. Chapter 30: Impend

"Hey—_hey_! Meisha!" Pietro waved from down the hallway. The redhead froze, tentatively closing her locker door as the speedster ran up to her side. "Guess what?"

Sighing, she replied, "you're gonna tell me anyway, so go ahead." He just kept smiling widely, bouncing on his toes. "Did someone steal your lunch money again? Is it another idea for a prank? Or is it _Kenzie_ again?" That name was said with almost an eye roll and the thought vaguely passed through his mind that she was dressed differently.

"No! Why you seem so bitter? No ways—now _guess what_, Meisha!"

She didn't want to, but asked anyway. "What?"

"Chicken-butt." He was smiling, toothy, like he was really proud of himself.

Meisha pinched the bridge of her nose, praying for patience. "Why?" she groaned, closing the zipper of her book bag. "Pietro, you do know that _Mckenzie_ and her group better not hear you talk like that. You'd get beat up in minutes."

"But I'm too _cute_ to beat up," and he puts on puppy-dog eyes. It was mock and wasn't very convincing. He thought that he was so funny; he liked to think that he's a comedic genius. "No but really, I think I found out some great info! And what's your problem? You've been different lately."

She tucked a bang behind her ear. "I think I can manage to see past the _"adorable"_ exterior." She crossed her arms, pretending to pout. That's when he noticed that she was wearing a pink halter top. "And I don't have a problem, alright?"

"But why're you dressed like _that_?"

"Like what?" She was still and tense. Her bright eyes squinted once.

He thought that she's wearing _makeup_?! He wrinkled his nose. "Like _that_."

"What? My clothes? Is something wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"No. It's just...different that's all."

"And you're staring at me like that... Different good...?" Her eyes widened, hopeful. Her bangs were pulled back for once, and there was a flower clip in her hair.

"Yeah sure."

Meisha frowned.

But he knew that she had always been too nice for her own good, more than some others that he knew. He wanted to ask why she was dressed like this, like she wanted jock's attention, like she was from a bubblegum commercial, like she wanted to be a part of the popular clique; she's never worn bright pink and a corner of his lip pulled back.

"You sure there's nothing going on?—because you're mentioning Mckenzie a lot too like you like her—-"

"_I_ don't have a problem with her. I mean, really, she's _your...__thing_, if that's the right word." She had begun walking, the other mutant in tow. "And there she is, your girl."

Further down the hallway indeed was Mckenzie, Meisha was pointing to. The girl was alone, and her head was down, which was odd—Mckenzie was—_is_ popular, has always been, and rarely is she without hers or Clarice's entourage. As the two continued to watch, they saw two girls and a guy wearing a letterman jacket who were recognized from hanging around the blonde popular queen. Clarice was there too, they saw. But unlike the many, many times the clique has roamed the halls, this time Mckenzie stayed noticeably behind; her boyfriend that was usually by her side had his arm around another girl, a shorthaired brunette, and if Mckenzie noticed this, she didn't give any indication. In fact, since being discovered when slinking away at the party on Spirit Day, Mckenzie had been behaving as such. She's been silent, alone, an outcast in her own group.

"You still like her, don't you?" Meisha asked Pietro, crossing her arms, lips curling. "She looks awfully lonely. Why don't you go _talk_ to her? No gentleman would leave her like that."

His head whipped around to her. "_Gentleman_?" He scoffed. Both knew he wasn't either.

"But...do you still like her?" Her tone raised. It was slight, but still there.

Pietro juggled his bag on his shoulder, watching the clique from afar. "...Yeah."

He didn't see Meisha's head drop. She tightened her fists. They stood there for some time, watching the group chat.

"Hey, what was that thing you want to tell me?"

He didn't answer immediately. "Nothing, don't worry about it."

_**. . .  
**__**. . .**_

Last Tuesday, Pietro had been caught climbing out the window of Rainy's home. Sherry had stared, eyes as wide plates and she hadn't been about to scream, but there was an accusations about to fly when he had ran up and pressed a hand to her mouth, keeping her silent. He had begged her to keep quiet, to not tell anyone.

Sherry had forced his hand away. She just wanted answers, and she threatened if she didn't get them.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?!"

"I was coming over because I was coming back to return the—the—protractor I borrowed, you know, because we're _friends_," he had replied with a wrung, dry smile.

"_Protractor_," she sneered.

He frowned. "Did you not hear me?"

She scoffed.

Pietro begged Sherry not to tell anyone, that if anyone did find out, they would start talking, teasing, spreading false accusations. He would be roasted alive and made an even more outcast, and Rainy would be dragged down with him. And Sherry had laughed, telling him that he shouldn't be worried about people talking about _this_—he hadn't understood it at the time—that people were still talking about him, yes, and probably would for a while, and _this_ situation was probably the _least_ of his worries.

The first was of Rainy

Now, and back in school two days later, he was cornered in the janitor's closet on the second floor. He had been looking for Rainy but to no avail, and now his back was getting cold due to being pressed to the concrete wall and Sherry was standing in front of him, his collar bunched in her fists, and she was huffing, angry—or frustrated, or _something_. He's seen that expression before.

"What are you _doing_? You're going to be killed!"

Outside, he had been fraternizing with a boy who had been about a head taller. The two beside him had been cracking their knuckles, preparing to fight. Luckily, Sherry had stolen Pietro away and both hushed hearing the three boys in jerseys run by the door outside.

Sherry and Pietro exhaled.

"That was stupid." She opened the door letting them out when the coast was clear. "What were you trying to do? _You_ never talk to them—they'll beat you to a pulp."

There was a small piece of torn paper in his pocket, Pietro remembered. It was an address torn from a flyer. "I was trying to take care of some business."

"_Business_?"

"Yes business. It's done by talking to people, you know?"

She snapped, knowing what business was. she asked what _he_ had been doing—she wanted to help because some people would listen to _her_ more. They were walking toward the stairs now. They passed a trophy set behind glass; class was still going on.

"And obviously, you _have_ to be close to Rainy or else she wouldn't have let you come over." Then, a realization struck. "Wait, is she paying you for something? Are you getting something out of her? Because she doesn't get along with _anyone_ enough to let them come over to _her house_. Whatever it is, I can double it!"

"What is it with you people and money," he rolled his eyes.

"I, uh, didn't really mean money..." Her eyes darted to the side once.

Pietro sneered almost. "You sound a little hurt that Rainy lets me come over. Does she not let _you_?"

"Oh, course she does! I'm her best friend!"

He hummed.

"Best friend huh?

Then can you tell me about this best friend of yours because all that she tells me are answers to the next test. I'd, uh, like to get to know her better, you know." Those last words were harder to say than imagined.

Sherry squinted. "She _gives_ you answers?" Her hair seemed a more brighter red today for some reason. "That doesn't sound like her."

"Then can you tell me what does? What's she like? She seems a little...troubled?"

That made the girl's brow arch to the max. Sherry stopped walking and folded her hands behind her back. "And what makes you think I should tell you anything? How do I know that you don't have anything against her, some hidden malicious agenda?"

He had his hands shoved in his pockets. "Because one: she actually _let_ me inside. And two," he curled his finger inside the corner of his mouth, pulling. He showed the healed scar on the side of his mouth she had caused by her box cutter. "She gave me this, so I think we're past the awkward introduction part."

This time Sherry's expression relaxed a little. "She did that?" the girl asked, incredulously.

"Yeah. She isn't the most sensitive or shy person, ya know. You should know that—you know that right? Why do you seem so surprised?"

Sherry hesitated. "Because the last time I knew, she was sick. She has some type of disease—no one with a disease goes around—-"

He snorted. _'Disease!'_

She asked what was so funny.

"See, that disease thing is what I wanted to ask those lovely men before you showed up but you'll do. How long has she been _"sick?"_ I'm doing a type of—project—research, whatever, about it. When did she first find out?"

Again, Sherry hesitated on her words, thinking first.

"Not too long ago—-"

"When, exactly. Will you tell me?"

Pause. "...I guess so. She got it around the start of seventh grade. But...why do you talk so fast?"

His answer was ready a beat later. "Speech impediment."

_**. . .  
**__**. . .**_

It was the day after Ronny's return from the doctor's and the next day at school, talk had started to circulate amongst the popular crowd and those further down the hierarchy could feel the tension brewing.

The bell for lunch had rang not too long ago and the cafeteria was thriving, food was dropping on the floor and shoved into backpacks. Mckenzie sat two seats from her ex-boyfriend, and Wanda was outside under the bleachers in the field. Troy was still with the blonde from the party, her snuggled under this arm, and Rainy ate quietly with Michelle and her threesome; Ronny sat silently, chewing on a sandwich, a bagged lunch for once.

Meisha pushed around the broccoli florets on her lunch tray. It was only her and her friend at the small corner they occupied and she had drawn her sweater hood over her head, too shy to want to be taken notice of. It had been five minutes that she had sat at the table until her friend arrived, and she had been nervous, her anxiety on hyperdrive.

She turned to him, preferring his bologna sandwich over this questionable school meat on the tray.

"Why are you so quiet?"

He watched her tentatively study a broccoli before eating it. He finished chewing. "No reason." Ronny took another bite.

Meisha was staring at him now. "That's not true." He wasn't looking at her. "Ronny, what's wrong? You're wearing your stressed face again."

"I'm not stressed," he lied. But there were deep wrinkles between his brows and his eyes were focused, and he was tense. It wasn't rocket science to tell that indeed he was.

Meisha frowned, he saw when stealing a glance.

Ronny shook his head, shrugged. "Nothing's wrong. I'm not stressed." His mouth was full.

"And cats don't meow," she replied with sarcasm. "Don't treat me like some bimbette."

He didn't respond. It was some time until she spoke again.

"Ronny~, what's _wrong_?" She was nudging his shoulder now.

He still wouldn't tell.

Across the lunch room, Michelle's friend made a joke and Rainy was a beat too late to laugh. Clarice, crowded around by people who "loved" her, as usual, laughed heartedly. A table of classic geeks exchanged game cards, and one dropped his cookie on the floor.

Meisha asked why Ronny wouldn't tell. "...Does it have something to do with the doctor?" When he didn't say, taking another bite to keep his mouth busy, she continued: "Pietro told me, so yeah, I know." She paused. He chewed, swallowed; still no answer. "What happened?" She placed a hand on his forearm, but drew away quickly. He was _freezing_, as cold as the cafeteria room.

He scratched at his arm, further up and near the shoulder. His skin was dry. That rash had gone away at first but now spread across both his shoulders and over his knuckles. That was just under his shirt. The rash that had only been in small patches before, that cracked his skin in scale-like patterns, now had grown up his back, over his knee, creeping up the right side of his neck.

"Nothing happened," he told, he lied. Ronny took another bite of his sandwich, suddenly hating the taste.

_**. . .  
**__**. . .**_

Rainy wasn't at school either, Pietro later found out. She had been emitted to a hospital a day ago and had lost a lot of blood.

_"Rainy can't loose any blood. She starts to bleed and it won't stop,"_

Sherry had said

Pietro found out because Sherry had told him—eventually; there was much pressing.

Of course, Sherry did not trust him, not fully or immediately, and so she didn't suspect, didn't _think_ that he'd be the one to go back to Rainy's house—on his own and of his _own_ accord. She would suspect that he was up to something, and she wouldn't let him go and do something to her friend. She didn't know that he's already been multiple times. Too many times, the two walking after school and on weekends, the route already familiar and almost memorized.

_"It happened at home. She told me everything:_

_Some "guest" had been over at their house,_

_And this wasn't like the other times when they would grab her arm and try to sweet talk her to come a__nd go away when she insulted them._

_He had gotten angry. He had been with and for her mother; I don't think her father was there. I don't know._

_He had gotten mad when he called him an ashy, maggot-eating, three horned white lizard looking *******._

_And he had thrown one of the ceramic glass plate at the back of her head._

_She says that she didn't feel it—"_

_"Of course she wouldn't"_

_"—But when her mom came in, hearing breaking glass, she had screamed and threw the guy out the house. Rainy was taken to the hospital after that."_

Pietro looked again at the little piece of paper torn from a flyer. It was an address. He was going to Rainy's, but first, he had to take care of some business. Going at his own speed, he eventually arrived at the location no more than ten seconds later.

It would be late afternoon soon, when the sun would begin to sink and the show would begin. School was out and everyone was going home.

He stood at the entrance of a borrowed land lot, Balzani's Carnival in big, bold, nauseated lettering on the tapestry. He cracked his knuckles and walked in.

_**. . .  
**__**. . .**_

Wanda remained in her room. She's gotten into the habit of disappearing there as soon as she arrived home. Currently, she was sitting on her bed, her younger sister's pounding on the door drowned up by the music of her cassette music player blaring through her headset. She was writing in a journal, a diary.

She felt upset, frustrated, wronged; she felt angry, used, and vengeful. She was partially proud of herself for not losing control back at the party, but, of course, there was a part of her that wished she had. And when this happened, when she was full of these red hot emotions that made her fingertips glow and a tingle set behind her eyes, she would try and think of different things, happy things; sometimes she went to the kitchen, most times she colored or read.

Wanda was very, very bitter about Troy. She just couldn't get her mind around _why_ his attitude had changed.

_Had he just used her? Had he been drunk? Did he even _like_ her? _Worst yet, _was she played only for his spare time__?_

Her younger sister pounded on Wanda's bedroom door one more time. She hollered, saying that it was six and Pietro still hadn't returned home. Mary was working late tonight, and Wanda and Pietro were in charge of dinner.

Wanda groaned, rising from her bed. Pietro had supposed to be back with soda by now.

**_. . .  
_**_**. . .**_

As many times as she's ran into the mutant, whether in a crowded area or alone, she should be used to his antics, his hypereenrgy and slight loss of courtesy and manners. But really, she couldn't wrap her brain around it—rationing-wise—and when she opened her window, hearing knocks coming from outside, and saw him knocking on the one to her parents' bathroom, she wondered how he had gotten to a window that would have been on a second floor on leveled ground.

She slid her bedroom window up enough to slide a hand out. "Shouldn't you be climbing up someone else?"

"Watch your mouth. Shouldn't you be..." He blanked.

Rainy's arms remained crossed, watching him.

"...Look, I got nothing, alright!" he blurted. He held on to the window ledge, worn sneakers pushing against the side of the house for support. "Now let me in! I don't have super strength you know!"

She remained aloof, stolid. "Why should I?"

He was visibly struggling now. "I swear to _god_, Rainy! Let me in the damn window! I have something to tell you."

"Why can't you tell me now?"

"Rainy!"

Ten seconds later, the boy was stading from his hands and knees from clambering into her room. Pietro quickly stood—not _too_ quickly—and brushed himself off, exhaled, puffed out his chest. He was trying to look cool—it didn't work.

She stepped back once. He noticed that she was halfway dressed in night clothes. Her arms were crossed and that stone face hadn't changed. "What is it?" she cut to the point. "Or I'll start screaming burglar. And I haven't done that in a long time so I don't know how horrible my voice would be."

"Hey, hey! No need for that." He raised his hands in defense, and then thought. "You say _again_? Like you've done this before? Is that your thing; is that what you do? Because I think I should be concerned, and I'd imagine it to be unpleasant."

"Unpleasant?"

"Very unpleasant." He took a look around her room. It was unfamiliarly tidy, almost everything seemed to have a place, everything put away nicely—and then he saw her school things scattered, and an abandoned shoe, a tie-dyed shirt near her nightstand.

She still had that placid, calmed look about her features. "What was it?"

"What was what?" He spoke rapidly, attention snapping back to her. He realized that he had only seen the dinning and living area of the house, and this was a bold move for him, that she could kick him out anytime, or get him caught, arrested.

The rush was exhilarating.

"What was it you needed to come and tell me? I hope it's important for you to come all the way over here to tell me." She glanced at the clock nearby her bed. "I'm supposed to go to bed in the next hour and a half. I have a track meet to go to."

Oh. he forgot that she was still involved with school activities.

"Oh that..." Then a wide, toothy smile crept across his face, spreading his lips to where he resembled the Jaws shark. "Grab your coat. I have a something special arranged for you, rain cloud. ...And, you might want to put on some shoes...and clothes because—because it's a bit chilly tonight."

Again, Rainy looked at him from his scuffed shoes to the goggles over his white hat. "You still haven't told me why. Why should I listen to you?"

"Because I...it's this...because you said..."

Rainy didnt move with her arms folded and gaze unwavering, waiting. He bit his lip.

Pietro doesn't like to be wrong. Even more, he doesn't like being _caught_ doing these things or _admitting_ them. He calls them charity work to keep his ego, when he's done something nice and unselfish. But if you were to ask him about it, he'd lie.

"Will you just—-! Look, I have—-I arranged a little meeting for you to get your _"condition"_ looked at, because I remembered you talking about that carnival and that cheapskate who outsmarted you."

"I knew I shouldn't have told you," she voiced in a slightly lower tone. Her hair was messy, unbrushed. "And I wasn't outsmarted. I was cheated."

"Sure." He rolled his eyes. "Anyways, get dressed because you're sneaking out." He fingered the two cut pieces of paper in his pocket. "I have two tickets."

* * *

**_A/N: The last chapters will be coming out this week. _**


	37. Chapter 31: Balzani's Eccentric Carnival

**_A/N: This chapter is really long, I apologize._**

* * *

_"I'm going to make you better," the thought passed. He thought he was doing to right thing. He hoped he was doing the right thing._

"The last showing?" She looked at the two tickets, noting the time. They were on the bus, catching the second to last ride that night. "I don't see how it can be much help if there's no way back home after. We'll be trapped."

He groaned. The bus drove over a speed bump.

"You didn't think about that, did you?"

He hadn't. The bus took a sharp turn to the right and Rainy slid across the seat, closer. When the vehicle straightened, he pushed her back over and she straightened in the seat. Once again, he wondered why they were sharing one. Rainy crossed her arms and continued staring at the tickets in her hands.

The rest of the ride had little talking except for Pietro's constant fidgeting. Rainy didn't turn from looking out the window. When they stepped off the bus, lights were already strung up and glowing, rides were going, and children were screaming for candy to their parents. The animal attraction had been brought out and there were performers doing small tricks for cash.

There was no line at the entrance. The bus rumbled back down the road, and neither had spoken still.

Pietro watched her approach the ticket teller and given wristbands of admission. He had his on first; he saw Rainy struggling and took her wrist in his hand. She still hasn't spoken.

"What're you thinking about?" he asked, tying her wristband on for her.

When her mouth opened, at first no words came out. "What did he say when you got there? You said that this was a personal appointment."

Yeah, well...

"They said that _that's_ after the show," waved a finger as they entered the carnival grounds.

"So I'm expected to sit through another one of their dreadful shows? How are you to know that they were truthful? Who did you talk to?"

He tried to reason, to say that it wouldn't be that bad, that carnivals are supposed to be fun, but she wasn't buying it.

"How disappointing. Still trying to con me out of my money. This time, my time."

"You didn't say this was a con man!" Pietro began. He had tried looking on the brighter side—this would be more of a challenge for him—but hearing this, maybe he was getting himself into an even bigger mess.

Rainy responded with a simple, "oh" from over her shoulder. She was holding her sweater in her arms, leaving her shoulders exposed in her blowy, sleeveless blouse.

"You aren't cold are you?"

She was looking down again. "No," she spoke softly.

He watched her shoulders. There was something sticking out along her right one shoulder blade, something under her shirt, colorful. He wasn't going to ask about it yet.

His tongue darted out. Pietro wiped his mouth once with his hand.

Mulch crunched under their feet. They approached the entrance to the main tent and Rainy drew back the flap, peering inside. The last of the audience crowded inside, packing side by side in the seats and reminding Rainy of sardines. Pietro hadn't gone inside, and instead was exchanging money for a large bag of popcorn with a vender.

"Why do you think you're doing?" she called.

He turned with a cheek full of buttered popcorn. "I'm hungry, calm down."

She saw from over his shoulder a small boy, maybe around the age of seven, and his parents walking towards a kiddie ride. The mother was holding a small stick of cotton candy and the father looked nervous.

"So I got these two tickets," the mutant spoke. "We better head inside because I think the show is going to start soon and I want my money's worth."

"What?"

Pietro blinked. "Did I say something wrong now?"

If Rainy could be surprised, she would have. "You really think I've come here to spend my money again on cheap prizes and watered down soda? They're show is a joke here. The tickets are overpriced and you can see the illusions a mile away. The man in charge here can and will swindle you out of your money for a future fortune that will give you a false reading of when you'll die." Her voice was calm, collected, and slicing. He was frowning deeply now but she didn't care. "And the cotton candy machines are never cleaned."

Pietro had paused with a hand of popcorn halfway to his mouth. Now, it lowered tentatively, disappointed. "Well now you just ruined the whole thing. You need to stop doing that."

"Before, I wasn't able to come here—myself—I don't, can't fathom why. But I am now, and I'm not going to lose sight of my goal now, this place that ruined my life." Her hair was tied in a high ponytail and she was wearing a denim jacket, jeans, an almost scowl on her face. "You're free to leave anytime, whenever you want, Maximoff. This doesn't concern you; you can go and watch that liar of a man if you want."

They heard pony horses, the call of a falcon somewhere.

There wasn't a sound that passed between them for a good minute. Rainy saw the gears turning in his head, his look go from disappointed to astonished to comprehension, and return to a deep frown. She saw him finally chuck his fistful of popcorn back into the bag.

Inside the main tent, the lights dimmed and a tall, round man in a top hat and suit, carrying a whip entered the center ring. He threw his hands up and introduced himself as the owner of this carnival, Ringmaster Balzani. His voice boomed, amplified by speakers.

Rainy looked off to the side, turning to leave, and Pietro debated.

How long has he known Rainy?—this girl who couldn't keep her mouth shut and who didn't filter her words. Who has helped him bring up his studies, and didn't care whether you liked her or not. She was truthful, ballsy, belligerent, and unfamiliar, a breath of fresh air—she was cursed and was surrounded by questionable, stereotypical questioning people. She was cursed and every time Pietro crossed her path, wondered why he put up with her, why he didn't just run away and leave. Their deal was done, he didn't have to keep seeing her to study, he didn't have to listen to her unflustered banter. He didn't need to listen to her story—he didn't need to _care_.

He wanted to call it charity work, but—

This girl was a basket case. It was probably his own selfishness that led him to stay—he didn't deny that she had _connections_, that she could help him (cheat) ace every exam. but that wasn't it, not entirely.

He was rude, selfish, inconsiderate, impatient, and oblivious. She didn't think, couldn't feel, was an open book and a puzzle; she had no regards for other's emotions, was conniving, condescending, insensitive, and morally questionable.

Time felt to have slowed down as Pietro watched her ponytail sway as she turned on her heels.

Like her, sometimes he didn't know why he was here either. He wanted to say that it was a kind of charity work.

"Let's go." He grabbed her wrist before she could walk off—Rainy was fast but he was faster. "This _does_ involve me now. Where is this asswipe? What pile of shit is he hiding under?"

Glancing at his fist around her wrist, she asked what he was doing, sounding perplexed.

"Going to find this jerk. You're on an agenda, right? Let's go."

She needed a moment to gather this, to try and understand his logic for this. "Don't even think I'm thanking the likes of you."

"Don't worry, I'm not. Instead, _you_ should be the one who's thankful."

"...I don't understand that."

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

Meisha sat at her cream-white dresser, looking at herself in the mirror. This time, she wasn't crying, wasn't bawling and in pain.

SCISSORS

She hadn't touched those pair of scissors she had used to tear a two-inche wide gap of hair from her scalp. She hadn't seen them in a long while, having placed them back in the kitchen and acted like nothing had ever happened.

_When she had been crying.  
__Snip  
It was the same as self harm_

_red pause scene_

Meisha watched herself in the mirror taking a wet wipe to her face and smearing at first, wiping the makeup off that she had worn that day. Sherry had put it on, but the girl didn't realize that she couldn't put on _the same_ _type_ of makeup on another, that different techniques flatter different faces. Meisha threw the used wipe away in the bin beside her and took out another, wiping away the eyeliner and mascara.

She groaned. She still had some time to warm up to this.

When she had been working on ridding the lip gloss, her mother knocked and entered her bedroom without waiting for a reply.

"Mom?"

The woman's eyes were torn, she saw—sad, remorseful, guilty, concerned—then she squared her shoulders, raised her chin. "Meisha, how've you been? ...Have you been feeling alright?"

The girl hesitated, suddenly suspicious. "Yes..."

Lie

"Really? Nothing's been going on that you might want to talk about? Like...trouble at school...? Boys...?"

Then suddenly the girl's heart was in her throat and her blood began rushing. Meisha froze. This time, she didn't respond.

Her mother continued. "Because I have something of yours." She stepped inside the room further, and now Meisha could see her other hand. Her mother outstretched her arm and inside her palm were locks, thick clumps of light ginger hair. Her daughter's eyes went wide.

Meisha's initial reaction was to blurt "it's not mine!" And it was on the end of her lips, her mouth already having begun proclaiming it until she stopped herself.

"Oh, it's not?" her mother questioned, not fooled at all.

The girl's jaw snapped shut. It was a reaching assumption—she was the only one here with red hair and it was irrefutable.

But her mother's eyes remained calm and soft and so, so troubled. "Meisha, we need to talk," she calmly spoke.

_**. . .  
**__**. . .**_

Safety is number one

"I don't understand. You actually fell for it and believed that Balzani was going to help."

They passed a warning sign, one that told of safety.

"It was an honest mistake."

As the show under the tent began, Pietro grabbed Rainy's wrist and shouldered his way through a small bustling of people. He had dropped his bag of popcorn somewhere on the ground. He realized that he was pulling her along and didn't know where to go, and when turning and asking her to lead, she did so without reply. So now he followed silently; she led them past the ride attractions and further into the back of the carnival.

It was practically night out; insects began to sing, telling that it was evening time. Inky black chasing away the pink and gold clouds, the sky straining to hold the last of the sun at the very edges of the horizon.

"Do you know where you're going? You've said that you tend to forget. Do you remember who the guy looked like?" he asked, wary. "You know, you could have forgotten or got it mixed up. How are you so certain, how are you certain it's this way?"

Her reply was cutthroat: "You don't forget the face of the person who ruins your life and your family."

Oh.

"You really thing he ruined your family too? How do you even know? You think that it's—-"

"Yes, I'm certain." Rainy stepped over a protruding rope line that Pietro tripped over. "Balzani—the ring leader—they're worse than you'd imagine."

"You don't think that maybe these thoughts are all one-sided...?" his brow raised.

"Balzani is the ultimate conman here who swindled all these performers into contracts with no loopholes," she explained in one breath, ombre brown ponytail swinging. "Why do you think the ticket prices were so high?"

"How do you know this?!" Pietro was appalled.

"That's how they trick you. They get your expectations high and they feed you mediocre attractions." She pointed to a kiddie rollercoaster, it's breaks rusted and screaming as it came to a stop.

He frowned. They rounded behind a cotton candy stand. "I'm guessing you didn't like the show...?"

"I saw every trick coming."

Well then, this was kind of a bummer.

He pulled his hat lower, hiding his silver hair. "'Kay then, where are we going?"

"We're finding the guy who can grant wishes."

She turned onto a path that led under a makeshift archway labeled _House of Miracles and __Oddities_. As they entered, the attractions changed to more personalized tents, some with titl es, names, at tractions, all painted on tapestries and wood. There was one of a bearded woman holding a hand mirror, an oversized bald man, and contortionist. Then they became even more peculiar as the two journeyed further into the "house:" a painted tapestry of a magician without arms, one of a twoheaded fortune teller, a sign labeled a "living devil," a shrinking woman with wings given the stage name "actual fairy," a picture of a woman eating swords and titled "the bottomless woman." There was another of a shirtless man with spikes protruding from his back, another with an elongated face, a sign of a "human magnet."

"Rainy...?" Pietro became more wary, making sure to stay at her side.

A trio of boys exited from the fortuneteller's tent, looking like they had seen something ghastly, and Pietro could hear the remnants of the woman's voice inside.

"It should be over here," Rainy spoke, pointing ahead. "Near the human flamingos if he hasn't moved."

"Human flamingoes?!"

"My mistake, _mutant _flamingos." She read a sign that read "Real dancing plants!" as they passed, and Pietro scrunched his nose. "No, I lied again."

He glared.

She slowed down when she saw the tapestry in the distance. It was red with the face of a man painted on it and the stage name "wish-granter."

"Really? Wish-granter?" Pietro grumbled. "He couldn't pick any better name? Why not genie or magic man or something?"

Rainy was looking at a tent nearby. That one allegedly held a woman with three eyes.

Pietro nudged her side, asking if she was sure she wanted to do this, their destination nearing. She only frowned.

"Maximoff, I'll say this once more." He asked _what_ but she continued anyway as if he hadn't. "Perhaps it's difficult to tell from my clothes, but my body might not actually be worth the price you'd pay for accomplicing a crime."

"You and I have two different expectations, I see. You seem pretty confident, overly confident," he spoke truthfully, and then switched over to sarcasm. "You're great at persuasion though. Absolutely fantastic, the best. You blow my mind."

"Don't be rude. This is a serious situation—"

"And I'm being serious!"

"-—And none of this situation calls for you, so you can retreat back before something unfortunate happens."

But he only glared at her and told her that he was going in anyway. Maybe he could get a few hits in too. She told him only after she gets her condition fixed. He grinned and agreed, flexing his shoulders. They crossed the final few feet to stand at the entrance of the tent.

"You ready?" He looked at her.

She sighed. No answer.

"Well nothing's going to happen if we just stand here," she snapped. Oddly, that took some of his wariness away.

The tent was well kept, almost specially decorated, like in some kind hierarchy and this one was near the top. Jewels hung from the ceiling and the smell of incense burning carried on the air.

Pietro took the first step forward.

A voice inside stopped him, muffled. "Wipe your feet!"

They both looked, noticing the floor mat on the ground for the first time. The mutant grumbled as he wiped his sneakers before stepping inside.

_Darkness_

_Strangeness_

_Dangerous to walk around_

_Mysterious existence_

_Eye_

_Finger_

_Monster_

_Mouth_

_tongue_

_tooth_

_Nose_

_Ear_

_Immortal_

_A strangely deaden woman_

_Capulet_

_My intuition is right now at 10%_

The inside was dim, almost completely dark. It didn't help that it was very close to nighttime outside. The inside of the tent was illuminated by large candles placed at each corner, extras on small tables. Pietro's vision focused and he saw a woman with a veil over her eyes curled up alongside a man, both sitting on pillows over a mat. The man curled his fingers forward, ordering the teens to come inside.

Pietro blinked. He felt Rainy stand at his side, solid and calm. It helped a little.

The woman in the short veil shifted, her hand still on the chest of her apparent lover. "Well, nice to meet you, miss," the man smiled and it looked suspicious. Pietro noticed there were painted markings—or tattoos?—near the man's eyes. The mutant also saw that the other wore a sleeveless shirt, and that he seemed to like food and little exercise. "I am Halil, the wish granter. Anything your heart desires—family problems to resolve, an ex you'd like to forget, a meditation to erase the day's troubles—I can grant them all." Pietro could have sworn that the man's grin grew wider.

The mutant shuffled.

"Nice to meet you, too. My name is Rainy Capulet. This is my classmate," she nodded her head in Pietro's direction, who stood still with his arms at his sides. "He's heard of things about you and came along to see you."

"Ah, I see..."

Partially taken off guard by how polite and sincere she sounded, Pietro lost his composure for a split second. He didn't know that the woman in the veil had seen.

"Halil," Pietro butted in, "around two years ago, this girl—-"

"Three years," Rainy corrected. "And please refrain from saying _"this girl_._"_ That's rude."

"Then what would you want me to say then?"

"...An unfortunate casualty."

"This unfortunate casualty that we know," he repeated in a drone. He was close to rolling his eyes but didn't want this creepy couple to kidnap him.

"Don't use such a robotic tone. Say it properly." Rainy's head was slightly tilted.

He sighed, still facing the couple. Pietro whispered, still clearly snark, "_this casualty that we know_," no longer paying attention. He earned two fingers in his eyes when he suddenly turned back toward her—she had been ready and prepared.

While cursing and holding his eyes in pain and accusing that she had meant to poke his eyes out, she replied that rude comments are an eyesore.

"In any case," she continued, turning her steely eyes to the man sitting on the pillows, "who's she?" The girl pointed to the woman in the veil.

The woman had leaned forward, beginning to stand, when the man insisted she remain sitting. She spat for Rainy to watch her tongue in another language. The man, the wish-granter, said that the woman wasn't a part of this conversation.

"So, no one major,"

Rainy had asked.

The woman bristled.

The wish-granter laughed. "You got a mouth on you, don't you, young lady?"

She ignored it. "So anyway, I was told that you can help me."

He leaned back. "Well, that's what I'm here for."

"Like I said before, I'm Rainy Capulet. Exactly three years ago I came to this carnival and went to see you after watching the main show with complaints about my home life."

"Sorry ma'am, I don't rem—-"

"I came to you with two other girls, one with red hair, one with black," Rainy continued on. "I was wearing this necklace with this picture inside. You wanted it in exchange for money." She took her necklace from around her neck and opened it to show the picture inside. Pietro couldn't deny that the man's eyes did glint. "I came here for help. Instead, my wish turned and backfired."

Pietro began to worry. His eyes darted to the man who was squinting now, studying Rainy who stood firm with unwavering guild. Tension was passing through the air. The wish-granter told the woman to leave, that this was business matters that needed to be handled alone. And she was reluctant at first, but he ordered her once more and she got to her feet. Pietro saw that they were bare. As she walked by, he noticed that she was inches taller than he, and he could _swear_, is more than likely _certain_ that he saw a third eye under that thin veil, one centered and above her first two, situated on her forehead.

_Eye_

_Strangeness_

He swallowed, remaining silent.

The wish-granter stared at Rainy, finally muttering, "Sorry miss. The only one who can help you is yourself."

_Immortal_

_Mouth_

_Monster_

Pietro looked toward the girl beside him. He didn't dare move from his spot. Having been the victim of Rainy's wrath once, he only became more worried for the man.

Her tone was cut, stony. "I've been fed that stage line by many other people. All of them were frauds. Don't tell me you're just like them, wish-granter?"

Pietro almost jumped when the man laughed. "You're feisty, huh? So straightforward," the wish-granter mused. "Did something _bad_ happen to you?"

She wasn't smiling. Pietro wasn't sure if he's ever seen her smile.

"Well, anyway," the man continued, "if you don't tell me, then there's nothing to be said. I keep secrets well...It'll be alright..."

Now, Pietro could put a finger on his look: the smile of a deceitful, conniving man, a liar.

"Here let me give the gist of it," the mutant began.

"No need for that. I'll do it myself." Rainy stepped forward. "I can speak for myself."

* * *

**_A/N: Could you all please leave reviews? They mean the most and show that you like this or not._**


	38. Chapter 32: Returning to Normality I

_**A/N: ok I said that last chapter was long. It wasn't, this one is. My bad. This chapter was broken up into two. This is also a turning point, a BIG turning point in the whole story that I think you all will like?**_

* * *

So since you say you think I'm the one who took all yer...emotions and memories and whatnot, can you tell me what assistant had been by my side at the time? Maybe that can jog my memory—-"

"That is of little importance. It was you, solely you who stole my feelings and emotions and memories. Your assistant was just a show monkey."

"Was that a literal show monkey, or..."

Pietro shook his head. Rainy's deaden, assertive look didn't waver.

Halil shrugged it off, reaching for a hookah pipe on a small table not far from his pillow-seat. "Well, can you tell me a memory? I see many clients, you know."

Rainy showed him the photo in her locket again, holding the necklace by the string. "This woman here. I don't have any memories of her anymore."

The _wish-granter_ thought. "Seems familiar... I tell you, you're one of the fortunate ones."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Memories are vast. They change shape and deform and reconstruct easily and quickly than imagined. We can alter them subconsciously and reimagine what has never happened, effortlessly. To have a perfect memory is rare. It's a gift, a talent."

"Talent?" Pietro blurted before realizing his mistake.

"Yes, and not unlike those who can lift fifty times their weight or fly or perform other seeming impossible feats—in my opinion. Like the Madam Polinski who foresaw you coming." He was referring to the two-headed fortuneteller.

Pietro's eyes widened.

Talent

_Mutants_

"To be able to see other's memories is another talent that not many possess. Do you have any special talents, young lady?"

"That is a pointless question, isn't it?"

Halil looked to the other teen. "How about you, young man?"

Pietro bit his lip. His fingers fidgeted. "No," he lied. He hoped that this so-called wish-granter couldn't tell, however.

Halil turned back to the stolid-faced one. "Well you didn't become this way by accident, just in the result of something. Your...perspective just changed, is all." He was saying this all very lightheartedly. He took a drag from the hookah pipe, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils.

"Perspective? What are you trying to say?"

The man drew another lungful of smoke, exhaling it as he talked. "I'm saying that your _oh so pitiful_ look is bothering me, miss."

The last thing Pietro would have described Rainy as was _pitiful_. And looked nervously back and forth between the two, noticing that Halil has barely blinked and fearing for what Rainy would say. The pseudo-shaman did so only once as he and Rainy watched each other, not exactly glaring but not exactly testing either.

Finally, the man closed his eyes. His bald head teamed in the candlelight, and his blonde eyebrows were almost invisible. "Most people would become unnerved like your classmate here. And honestly, I thought you were just a spoiled little miss." She had asked why he thought so; Halil replied: "a lot of the people who come to see me are—either spoiled or very privileged. These procedures don't usually last this long—but then again, I don't _usually_ run into past clients that often. Regardless, if this can be reversed or not, if you _truly_ wish for everything back, all that burden and heartache and pain, I can help you."

"You will help me?" Rainy repeated for emphasis, to be certain. "No strings attached?"

_End flashback_

* * *

It was nighttime. The full moon shone bright in the clear, starless sky; power lines and apartment building blocked it from view.

"You know I never suspected that you'd live in a regular house," Pietro told. "I'd always assumed you'd live somewhere more extravagant, like a mansion or something, you know?"

Water

The sound of shower water hitting tile could be heard from the hallway.

The young mutant sat, leaning against one of the walls of her parents' home they had returned to. "Maybe next time I need a place to crash or hide, I'll come to you," he joked. The laugh was dry. "You have enough space here."

A cup of juice sat half empty on the kitchen table. The dining room lights were off; the only lights on in the home were her bedroom and the hallways, beside the bathroom, of course. The water swirled down the shower drain. A used bar of lavender-scented soap sat in the porcelain shower dish.

"My mother got involved in an...organization, you can call it, when I was younger," Rainy spoke, tilting her head up toward the shower-head. Her ombre brown hair reached between her shoulder blades when drenched, one shoulder blade which held a tattoo of a cloud dropping blue raindrops into a blue puddle. "She sold some of our valuables as payment, for drugs, for money. And when my father figured why some of our things were missing, he became angry, I remember. But she had already acquired a huge debt with her hippie groupies, and by that time she had become addicted to the attention, the drugs, going out late. She didn't have a job soon after."

As she stood under the warm water, her skin turned red. She couldn't feel it. Rainy placed her hands over her chest, on her thigh, and still not a sensory receptor went off.

Pietro fingered the rim of a glass that held Kool-Aid juice, listening to her through the walls.

"That's when I thought my parents were going to file for divorce. I figured that my father would be the one to have custody over me—it seemed logical and most likely—and I remember feeling worried about my mother. My grandmother—her mother—had died not too long before and she was going through a rough stage. My father tried to help her and she denied that there was anything wrong, had told me to just focus on school. She was the one who convinced me to start track and field."

Pietro straightened against the wall. There were only two barriers that separated them from each other.

The water slid down her olive skin, and she watched it gather and fall from her bellybutton and cupped palms. She couldn't feel anything, wondered what the last thing she did had been, what the feel of grass was, steam against her face, her mother's kisses. Rainy's eyes were wide, brightly colored, and remembering.

_**. . .  
**__**. . .**_

_Flashback_

Back then, no more than four hours ago, darkness had just fallen. The two had been outside under makeshift shelter. Insects were singing. Pietro jumped at an owl's hoot.

_The only one who can help you is yourself_

_Halil had said_

_You know that, don't you, young lady._

"Are you going to help me?" Rainy had asked.

This _wish-granter_ continued staring at the two teens with his head in one hand, bald head gleaming, sitting crosslegged on a pillow, and one of his pale blonde eyebrows arched. And Pietro realized how this man was _so pale_ and was far too _American_ for his self-proclaimed title. He definitely was a fake shaman, was probably a fake wish-granter. He looked to Rainy, skeptical on his own.

"I won't help you. I will, however, lend you power to contract with those forces _beyond_."

Rainy blinked. Pietro wondered if she was truly buying this lie.

He saw one of the candles nearest Halil flicker out.

"Oh, and please take a trip home. When you get there, cleanse your body with holy water and change into a set of pure clothes," the pseudo-magic man instructed. "Does meeting me back here around midnight sound convenient?"

Pietro looked to the girl he had come with.

She nodded. "Very."

"Ok...Now, the reward?"

Pietro made a noise of confusion.

The deceitful man smiled. "What? You thought I would be doing this for free?" His eyes ogled her, traveling up her height to her high, sleek ponytail, down to her bright eyes and complexion, her lips, her throat, her bosom.

Rainy frowned. Paused. "How does $400 sound?"

Pietro's jaw dropped but he didn't dare speak this time. He stared at her incredulously.

"$400, huh?" Halil considered. "Do you think you can _pay it_, little lady?"

Pause.

"Of course. No matter what I have to do."

Pietro's eyes widened even more. Halil's focused, sinister, blinking only once.

_End flashback_

_**. . .  
**__**. . .**_

"Do you really believe him?" Pietro asked loud enough for her to hear over the water.

In real time, he was staring at the turning fan on her bedroom ceiling and listening to Rainy's echoing voice, listening, daydreaming. He was lying on the carpet now, arms outstretched, cup of juice empty.

The shower was still running. "No," Rainy answered from inside the bathroom. "It was him, I remember. He was able to take it, he can give it back."

The mutant mused this over. _'$400...'_ He's never even seen that much money in his life, and just the thought of it...

His hand curled into a fist.

His sister would probably be suspicious by now. His youngest sister was no doubt asleep, and Aunt Marya could be worried sick. He knew that she was by now. She was working late and would likely see that he was still gone.

"Say? Rainy?" He didn't get a reply and so continued. "I met a friend of yours I think. Her name's Cherry or Sherry and she said that you had went to the hospital not long ago. Are you sure you're up for this? I mean are you sure you're able to? You won't pass out or die and leave me with that creep will you?" He didn't want to say that she shouldn't do this at all either, but...

Pietro waited, still no immediate response.

"Sherry told me that she ran into you at school. And yes, I'm sure." Before he could ask if she was truly certain, she added, "You remember when I said that they only come every three years? I don't think I'll get another chance to do this."

The shower water turned off.

While that may be true, _still_—

Maybe—maybe he shouldn't say it.

"Yeah I remember..."

Closing his eyes, partially, he couldn't believe that he was here, _actually_ going to do this, can't believe that he's set himself to get tangled up with someone like her—_with_ her. Sure, he's _known of_ Rainy for years—she wasn't exactly unknown with her father's face on billboards all over town—has only spoken with her when _absolutely needed_. But this—this was absurd. This was way too much than he intended for. She was just supposed to be an easy ticket, a resource for him to mooch off of; he wasn't supposed to become some assistant in some life-altering meeting.

This was crazy, absurd, and he should just leave.

He heard her feet slap against the bathroom floor. She was pretty heavy-footed.

But then he thought—remembered about the past couple months. Of studying, or trying to and failing, of just listening to her reading or snarking and trying desperately to either hold in a smile or to being _too _rude and not get thrown out her house. Remembered her good handwriting and terrible social and math skills, and the healed burn on her arm from chemistry class two years ago. She had terrible fashion sense—and he decided that she really did need help.

_"I cannot feel_

_I have no emotions either"_

_Monster_

He still had the paper wristband on. Those were their ticket to getting back in the carnival. Halil had made sure to sign it and had written some message on it in permanent marker that Pietro couldn't really read.

_"I have no feeling of touch...  
__I have no emotion..._

_There's no feeling to me,_

_Nothing whatsoever._

_I'm empty._

_Cursed_

_I'm a monster."_

He should probably leave—he was hungry and bored anyway. But he heard the door open down the hall and wondered how she would take it if he had suddenly disappeared. She needed help after all...

Rainy was standing in the doorway to her bedroom now, one towel under her arms and another around her hair, water still drying on her shoulders.

"Get out of my room."

The boy scampered out at surprising speed. Only when the door slammed close behind him did he call back, "can you not have been a little decent?"

"You're in my house, in my room. Rules don't work to cater you here."

He wasn't able to give a comeback as a hairdryer switched on from inside her room and he was left alone with his thoughts.

_**. . .  
**__**. . .**_

* * *

_**A/N: I will have the second part up soon. Will that be ok?**_


	39. Chapter 33: Returning to Normality II

**_A/N: The second half of the turning chapter. This whole thing will be tied up in the next and final chapter._**

* * *

An hour later the two were back on the carnival grounds. Pietro made sure to stick close to her until they reached the tent. It was pitch dark; luckily there were lights strung and torches situated throughout the grounds. The rides were off and the main tent silent and dark. Pietro jumped at a rat scampering, of figures walking past just out of the light. He thought that they were the only customers there.

He paused when they entered, holding an arm out to stop her until both had adjusted to the lighting inside the Halil's personal tent. Though, even then he almost didn't want to go forward. He didn't trust this suspicious man, didn't trust this place, and surely didn't want her going forward if this was all a scam.

Halil was already waiting for them inside, dressed in an equal sham of a "traditional" outfit.

"I told you, I can take care of myself," Rainy spoke, pushing past Pietro's arm and walking forward.

There had been danger signs he hadn't noticed before posted around the carnival grounds. And he became even more unsure, nervous, and anxious reading them.

_Watch out for—_

_Danger Danger Danger Danger_

_Monster_

_Eye_

There was a few movement about the carnival, but that was all behind them, literally. He knew that it must be the other performers. Privately, he was relieved he hadn't seen that three-eyed woman again, and the thought had a chill go up his spine.

But his man, this liar, Halil, was no better.

Rainy approached the man past the opening of the tent, the inside resembling a short hallway. She had dressed in all white: into a simple white dress, a white overcoat, and white dress shoes given from a thrift store. The mutant boy was in his same clothes.

_Suspend_

_Danger Watch out Watch out Suspend_

_Monster Eye_

The man had cleared out the inside of the tent, save for the candles, one stationed at every corner. Halil looked the girl over, something suspicious glinting in his eyes, and Pietro had to admit that the man _really_ _could_ pass as a shaman at first glance, especially in the dark lighting.

The man then began to speak: "I've thought about a lot of things." He looked Rainy over, less intense as before but still giving a rise in Pietro's blood. "You look like you've been purified nicely, little miss. Well done. May I ask if you had used any holy water?"

"No, I don't own any. Though I thought hot water would take care of it just fine." She remained emotionless, voice steady. Pietro was afraid his voice would croak.

Halil grinned, stated that it was no problem. And as he pulled out a small bottle of it from an inside breast pouch, it labeled _Holy Water_, and began dabbing it across Rainy's collarbone, Pietro was _bristling_, almost fuming.

"Just to confirm, are you wearing any makeup?"

She was short and to the point as usual, as expected. I thought it would be best not to."

Halil nodded. "Has your classmate showered as well?"

Pietro tried not to let the acid seep into his words as he told he had taken one at her house, easy.

"One thing remains." Halil paused. He pointed at Rainy's legs, indicating her white pantyhose. "You must take those off."

Now, Pietro was sure that _he_ didn't trust or even _like_ this man. But he wasn't in any position to object, and watched silently as Rainy reached under her dress and rolled her stockings into a messy bundle. He was sure to look away, taking and stuffing them in his jacket pocket by her silent ask.

"And you, young man, please remove your hat."

The mutant hesitated to do so. He didn't miss the rise of Halil's brows when his grey hair was exposed and that he looked very amused.

The faux magic man positioned his hands. It was time to begin. They followed Halil further into the tent in a single file line. Pietro hoped that nothing outrageous would happen, that he wouldn't be murdered or kidnapped or drugged or _something_. He wasn't ready to die, was too young to die—of course he started to panic.

"By the way," the teen asked, breaking the silent, "would this be easy to take care of? Like, there aren't any ghosts involved in this or things like that, right? 'Cause...'cause that could be _dangerous_."

Halil chuckled. "Remember when I said that the young lady was fortunate? That is because we will be dealing—not with ghosts, my friends—but spirits. So you must be respectful."

"_Spirits_?"

"Yes," the man spoke. "They have no tolerance for disrespect and are very powerful. ...Now first, you must talk about something good that has happened, and then we must begin to pray."

"Wait, is something going to be payed in return for, you know, her—-her emotions and memories? This isn't going to be an empty trip, man; don't make this an empty trip."

Halil's eyes narrowed as he glanced over his shoulder. "I assure you, this won't be an _empty trip_. The spirits won't ignore a desperate wish if the person asking is genuine. If we are to summon them and have them hear us, you must follow what I say."

"They aren't, you know, _evil_, are they?"

"Not if you don't piss them off," was his answer to Pietro.

They entered the center of the tent, a wide empty space that was around the size of a small kitchen. It had also been cleared and devoid of any furniture, any hookah, and only had charms and beads hanging from the walls, symbols drawn on the ground. Halil told Rainy to stand in the center of the room, inside a large circle of foreign coins all turned on their tails.

Three candles were lined up on a small table along the front wall behind Halil. They were melting in their dishes. The middle flame flickered, almost blowing out.

Reaching under the tablecloth, the man pulled out a small cup and handed it to Rainy.

"What's this?"

He remained unruffled and tranquil. "Alcohol shortens the distance between our realm and _the next__ one_."

Pietro watched, heartbeat beginning to quicken.

"I'm underage."

"You won't be drinking 'til you drop, just this bit."

She did as she was told, emptying the filled shot glass. Pietro's nose wrinkled.

"Now, if the little lady will speak of a good memory, or something fortunate that has happened." He was standing in front of her, outside the circle. "Close your eyes."

She obeyed. Pietro watched, appalled and not convinced, remaining further behind and near the entrance of the larger room.

"Breathe in positive energy, exhale the negative. ...What is something good that has happened recently? A good memory."

Rainy's mouth opened. She thought. "Nothing has. I can't think of anything."

"Nothing?"

Pietro called from the back, hesitant at first, asking if there really was _nothing_, asked her to think about the party—she hadn't attended it. Or about when she told off that douche Marcus—she "hadn't found pleasure in that." Or about her family, her friends, a book she's read—but she explained that those were all out of necessity, to appear normal, or to pass time. Then he asked, "think about...your past boyfriends or something?" And she told that their short tempers and that she couldn't understand their reasoning, and that they never lasted.

"What about popsicles, the popsicles? You can't go wrong with those, right?" He almost didn't want to ask.

She considered. "...I guess so."

She thought about the times she could remember: sitting with her mother on the front porch in the heat of summer years ago; when she was tiny and she had her father would eat some right out the box at the grocery store, before purchase; with Sherry during the summer; at home, presently, and usually alone. When she would hear her parents in the living room and she'd three in her room she would eat as a pass-time. Or recently, when Pietro had asked for a break from studying and both had been on the back porch as the late evening turned into night.

"Are you remembering," Halil asked.

"Yes. Faintly, but yes."

"Now, relax. This part is all up to you. Keep your eyes closed and bow your head. Begin to count." He looked to Pietro's skewered expression. "You too."

Both teens inhaled. "One. ...Two. ...Three. ...Four."

Pietro cracked open an eye. He saw Halil was standing behind her now, performing some kind of full-body dance, a silent chant, he thought.

"...Eight. ...Nine. ...Ten..."

Rainy was asked if she was finally relaxed. After she answered "yes," she then was asked to speak her name, the name of her school, and her birthdate. A reveal of an embarrassed situation when she was younger was the next question which she didn't give. Then her favourite type of music—she didn't care for music—and the name of her parents, how it felt entering into high school—"I didn't have any emotions at the time"—and what type of person was her first crush, something she rather not reveal. And finally, for her to place her locket, open, picture facing up, at the top of the circle of coins.

Halil had stopped his elaborate dance, now standing still behind Rainy, and inside the circle of coins also. "Final question: until today, what has been your most painful memory?"

Another candle flickered.

Pietro watched; she didn't answer.

"What's wrong?" Halil didn't get an answer; Rainy's eyes were still closed. "What is your most painful memory?"

Pietro remained watching, silent, from the back of the room. There was no sound made inside the tent. He heard the faint flutter of a bird outside.

Rainy's voice came out forced. "My—-my mother."

"Why your mother?"

"...She—-she got immersed in a swinger's club.

_Answer the question_

"Is that all?"

"What do you mean _"is that all_?"

_Answer the question_

"Continue...what happened?"

Rainy took in a long breath. Pietro watched Halil flick a hand of water into the air, then place his hands on her, one at the base of her neck, the other on the small of her back over her coat. Their shadows danced by the light of the candles.

"...A man came to my house once. My mother had said that he was really important, and to be polite to him. My mother had brought him there."

"Brought him _there_? What happened next? Do you remember?"

"...Not really..."

_Hand_

"I remember him being upset, angry, I think. And my mother looking distressed, but after that, noting. It jumps to the man gone and her forcing a smile at me, but I know that she's upset." She paused. "Sometimes I think that maybe, my mother wouldn't have fallen into her pathetic state if it had all gone differently. I remember that it was over my grandmother...and then that man...and that I can't quite remember. And I know it bothers her, and maybe then our relationship wouldn't be so...broken...?"

The tall mutant looked at the picture inside the locket on the ground. "I see. ...And these are your feelings, the ones that you wish to be restored?"

Rainy hesitated, then nodded."Yes. I want them back. ...I want to remember—all of it. I want it all back. I want to face my mother; I want it all back."

"No matter how heavy they are, are these the feelings that you wish to regain, and these memories that have obviously troubled you? They will be things that only you must carry, without pushing them on someone else." He positioned his hands on her, fingers lightly gracing her clothes.

She nodded. "Yes, I know." She paused, and Halil's fingers on her neck pressed into her skin.

"Why, miss? Please explain why do you want this so badly—make sure your intentions are pure."

Rainy hesitated. Surprisingly, this was the longest pause she's made. "I know caring for your friends is important and I want to be able to do that. I haven't been able to see my grandparents because I didn't want them to find out what I had done. I...I want to be able to hug my mother. I want to remember my grandmother."

Halil blinked, his face grave. "Ah, there it is." He forced his hands forward, jerking Rainy's body and fingertips digging into her skin.

She fell with a cry of pain.

_She fell with a cry of pain_.

_She cried out in pain._

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

_In the end, this is still a question on self-reflection_

Two candles flickered out.

A flashback

It seems that when Rainy Capulet's mother became completely immersed in a swinger's club, Rainy was in sixth grade.

_"But it had been the third time I was awoken at night. And I remember—-I remember seeing the two of them sitting on my parent's bed."_

_She had been suspicious though—though mainly curious and annoyed—when she noticed that the spare room in their home was seemingly being used more and more, and her parents' bedroom started to hold a different scent lingering in the air._

_Open the mind's eye_

Her grandmother had passed away a year before due to a serious illness, and her mother was finding it difficult to cope. Rainy's mother side of the family had always been closely knit, and her mother was taking the death the hardest. Truthfully, her mother had become addicted to drugs as a result, as time ticked by and she searched for a way to numb the pain. Then, Rainy's father had made his decision to pursue a career in politics, and her mother hadn't taken kindly to it—Rainy's mother had disagreed with it, to put it nicely, and many times had threatened to leave and take her daughter with her.

This is where Rainy got the assumption that her parents were disagreeing. This is where the disfunction began to escalade.

Eventually, Rainy felt abandoned—her father's office job required him to put in more hours, not like he was home much either; her mother was becoming increasingly distant, and the family soon moved to a new town. Eventually, Rainy began seeking attention elsewhere.

Her grandmother had been close to with her granddaughter, and seeing her mother suddenly rarely ever home, her father already holding a consuming job, Rainy quickly and easily misinterpreted their absence and arguments as signs of oncoming divorce. She felt to be dealing with the death of her grandmother and sudden responsibilities and her new school on her own. As time ticked went by, she was feeding herself dinner, checking her own homework, reminding her mother to job-search, to keep an eye on the woman when she was high off her horse and feeding her when she came down. Rainy had the numbers to the doctors and dentists and local hospital and poison control ready in case of emergency.

She was going to enter high school already an adult.

Sure, her mother had dealt with the death in one of the worse ways, but at the funeral, Rainy had been passed right over.

She had been close to her grandmother, and had been given the nickname Pot of Gold (at the end of the rainbow), and Golden Child. She had spent many summers with her grandparents, and nights when her parents were busy, before they all moved, before the woman passed.

_Her grandmother was a creamy chocolate of the south._

_The wrinkled dark woman in the locket picture laughing with a young, olive-skinned child._

But Rainy's mother had begun finding comfort in a friend of hers who had introduced her to the swinger's lifestyle when Rainy was young. She then began finding comfort in this friend, this sort of colleague, and then with others who were practical strangers—both men and women—at this club. It wasn't exactly a secret to her husband—because they had agreed to this. They had agreed on an open marriage when she stated that she was feeling neglected and his hours increased.

_They had agreed on an open marriage_

Flashback Flashback

After that, Rainy began seeing her mother less and less, arguing increased in their household, and their relationship became strained. And then...just before entering the year prior to high school, an incident occurred; Rainy's father hadn't been home. One day, her mother had brought a man home whom she had met at the club, an _important_ man, she told, a selfish and greedy and rich man.

_A frown took her face as she spat a response to him._

_"Three horned, white lizard-looking devil!"_

Desire

Palm of the hand

Strange

_He had been angry_

Hands hands hands hands hands

He was a selfish, moral-less man, one of the managers of the swinger's club.

Rainy's mother had wanted her daughter to join in the lifestyle, using her own story that she started this road of drugs and sex around Rainy's age, around the start of high school. But Rainy had refused and the man was dissatisfied. Her mother had to beg to remain in the club, even settling with increasing her monthly membership fee. Because of this, she began selling their belongings—jewelry, the husband's pens and cufflinks, the figurines and china given by her mother.

And when the husband found out, Rainy's mother was disappointed in her daughter, shamefully so. Rainy began to feel guilty, and feeling responsible for her parents' troubles, went to seek help.

_3_

_2_

_1_

_0_

This resulted in Rainy seeking advice and help at Halil the Wish-Granter's tent three years ago.

_"I came to you with two other girls, one with red hair, one with black."_

_"And wished it all to go away, that I didn't have to feel my mother's disappointment anymore. _

_What cruel, irony. _

_Be careful of how you word your wishes."_

The breakup of her family didn't happen, as predicted. But now, Rainy had no recollection of her happy memories of her grandmother, and no bodily feeling and no emotions. She couldn't feel her mother's apology in either way, enjoy or relate to her friends and thus lost many of them. The only two she has left are Sherry and Michelle, the latter holding on by a string because of Rainy's blank state. The victim to the performer's mutant act had been hospitalized because she has almost bled out, and leaves her home when it is not steady, walking and seeing how long she can go.

When she had come to Halil, Rainy had cut all ties with her mother, her father, and much of her family so she could stop feeling troubled regarding such matters, just like she wished.

She chose to cheat herself.

_End of flashback_

**_. . .  
_****_. . ._**

As the man finished the story, he licked his lips.

Stunned, Pietro watched the wish-granter remain kneeling at Rainy's side, her body still and unmoving on the ground, his fingers still digging into her skin. Pietro saw that Halil's eyes were closed. A tear fell from Rainy's eye.

_He shouted_

_"What the hell did you do?"_

He was at the other's side a second later, fist high, pulling back and ready to strike. Hall's tone was loud, but not nearly a yell, not like Pietro's.

"Don't move her," he warned, and Pietro's fist lowered. "You'll break the connection and disrupt the ceremony!"

The speedster paused for a beat, taking one more look at the man, the other's nails digging into the back of the girl's neck. His eyes darkened, and he grabbed the collar of Halil's robes in a fist. "This _is not_ a _goddamn_ _ceremony_!" This man was killing her, he just knew.

Pietro gritted his teeth. Halil remained calm.

"I'm not doing her any harm—-"

"You have your _fingers_ in her _skin_!"

"-—This is merely a part of it. Do not disrupt the spirits, they're almost finished performing—-"

"_Bullshit_!"

"-—And in just another minute, your friend will be just as well as she was before." He looked to the other mutant at his side. "I promise."

And then Pietro saw. It was barely there, but as he watched, there indeed were ripples flowing from under the sleeves of Halil's robes down to Rainy's neck, into her back. It was as if their _skin_ was rippling, like when a leaf touches the surface of a pond. It was barely there, but it _was_.

He stared at the man incredulously, in complete dismay. Rainy didn't move, and Pietro began to panic.

But surely, less than a minute longer, Halil removed his hands. He stated that they were done here. "Don't fret; she isn't dead, just unconscious. She should wake in an hour or so." Halil slowly got to his feet, knees and joints cracking. "You do know that this procedure isn't going to make her family better? Those unbearable feelings of her mother, her memories, her frustration and fear, nothing can change—nothing will change. Make sure to remind her that."

Absorption  
of the Mind and Body

_Mutant_

The man continued speaking. His voice was tired, looking from the girl on the ground to the boy beside him. "You know, it isn't such a bad thing, but it would have really been informative if you would have truthful and told that you were mutant." He saw the teen's frown deepen.

Pietro didn't reply and merely bent down to hook one arm behind Rainy's neck and the other under her knees. There was a steady dribble of blood from the injuries in her neck and back that wouldn't be noticed until later. Giving a little shrug, he adjust Rainy in his arms to make sure he had a good hold.

The teen gave the man a black look. "Pervert," he spat.

Placing a hand over the girl's head, he secured her head so her neck wouldn't snap back and break. He leaned onto one knee, readying, positioning, and then he was gone.

An envelope containing the four-hundred dollars payment was left on the ground. Rainy had stolen it from both of her parents.


	40. Chapter 34: Culmination

Of the following week, Sherbrooke High School was closed. There had been a body found in one of the downstairs restrooms hanging from the former student's throat. It had made a three minute coverage on the local news the next night, and a section in the newspaper obituary was printed three days later.

In the first week, the high school was closed for police lines and forensics who ruled it out as suicide.

It hadn't been long since Spirit Week had ended, and many of the students were anxious to find out what would happen this year, what event would define this year.

_Sadistic, really_

They surely found out

They all found out when coming back. That next week, word immediately began circulating as expected, and reportedly, most of the late student's former friends had attended the funeral. There was rumor that the restroom was now haunted, and very few—if any—dared to enter it. The first week back, classes were lenient and not many put up a fuss, and there were no students sent to the principal's office.

It was quiet, unflustered, improper. It was unorthodox, different.

Wanda almost didn't return either, even begged her aunt to let her take a sick day. The girl quickly changed her mind, however, when being told that she could stay only if she watched her little sister as well.

The school lunches hadn't changed, unfortunately. The line had been shorter than usually and thus less trays were served.

Overall, most carried on normally as if nothing had been different, as if nothing had changed.

And for many, it hadn't

Spirit Week was over, so everything was returning to normal. Normal, scheduled, and receptive.

Mckenzie didn't return. Word was that she had transferred. Some ridiculed her for her decision, tearing her down and stating that she was unworthy of her popular queen status, that she was too cowardly, too reckless. And Clarice had been at the head of these accusation, the source of them all. (It was no wonder why the other didn't return.)

In the second week, Sherry continued to carry on as her smiling, optimistic self and had made it her duty and her pleasure to have her _new redhead friend_ hooked around her arm all hours. And Meisha would be spotted by her two friends when in the hallways, being dragged along. She was always anxious, always worried, and only sent small half-smiles to the two other mutants until she didn't at anymore.

CHANGE

Sometime that week, one of the gym teachers had their class run the length of the outside track, _twice_. There was word that they hadn't been very proud of a favourite of theirs who quit early, grown tired sooner than before. But it was humid outside because at the cause of the warmer seasons, and that was the justifiable reason that ended up keeping gym classes inside.

The police had been called in the middle of that week for a false alarm, but word circled that a student had passed out during lab.

Wanda actively, adamantly avoided Troy Baxter and his new blonde_-betty_ girlfriend. After her aunt had found out about the situation, hearing the girl weeping into her bed sheets, the teen had been given a long talk. Marya emphasized that it hadn't been Wanda's fault it didn't work out, and sometimes this happens; sometimes people aren't as sincere as they seemed in the beginning, and those type of people are better to be avoided. And now, the young mutant had to try to abide by that life advice. It was difficult but she tried to return to school with a higher head—figuratively, of course.

"And I want to bet you, that he's going to end up hurting that girl too. He's just trash, _draga_," Wanda had been told.

Across town, the lot where the Eccentric Carnival had been was now empty. A full popcorn dispenser and flyers were the only evidence left behind of its existence. No one had since entered the lot space.

Elsewhere, as the weekend approached, several tools were reported to have mysteriously vanished from a hardware store. An entire shelf of Hostess snacks had disappeared at a grocery store a day later.

1

2

3

0

It's been three weeks now and there hasn't been any bizarre outbreaks, no wild assumptions that broke papers, nothing on the news about a suspicious traveling carnival, and nothing about lawsuits made by the Capulets about the carnival—not that he was looking for that in particular—but all seemed to be well.

Pietro returned to school alongside his sister, but she quickly left and entered the crowd to find her suddenly new, _more important_ group of associates. The mutant wondered the halls of the school with his hands deep in his pockets and inhaling his second McDonald's breakfast biscuit nabbed that morning.

It's been three weeks since returning from the carnival that had disappeared the following day. There had been a few nightmares Pietro had, but he successfully kept it hidden where he had been that night from his family. It hadn't been much, but that night weeks ago, after slipping an unconscious Rainy into what he guessed had been her room, he had left with a feeling surging in his chest that was both rewarding and fleeting. But that had been a while ago and didn't much matter now.

The teen approached his locker and spun the dial. The school halls were swarming and the hall monitors would be coming out soon. He ducked in time avoiding a flying paper ball meant for the kid a foot away.

The halls are abuzz with conversation, of talk about the recent death, the past weekend, of rumors and unfinished homework.

Pietro grabbed a science and history textbook from inside his locker he was finally using and stuffed them into his school bag. When he turned, he was met by the puffed chest belonging to one of the high school's football players. Pietro looked up and realized that this was someone he's seen before, someone who he has seen hanging around Thomas, an old ex-friend of his.

It's been three weeks that Pietro has heard from Ronny and Meisha. Despite, he hadn't tried to communicate to them much, not yet, at least. He would see Ronny in the hall sometimes, head still bowed and solemn. He would see Meisha still near that smiling girl, that one one who was an apparent friend of Rainy's, Cherry he thought her name was. Pietro would see them and couldn't deny that they all had become somewhat stand-offish and were growing apart. He was already cooking a plan to get them back together.

At the lockers and before classes began, the mutant shouldered past the ball player that persisted on instigating a fight. Pietro called over his shoulder that he'd wind the other out too easily, that the athlete had better save his energy for the next game when he loses again. The ball player fumed and stormed after the mutant who took off down the hall and into the crowd, not quite at superhuman speed but fast enough to get away effortlessly.

It's been three weeks since Pietro has heard anything about or from Rainy Capulet. Almost certain that they were the only ones that knew of the circumstances that occurred late that Saturday night, he began wondering if something had happened from her absence—that she had died, that she had _actually become_ gravely ill like so many thought she was; had she truly not woken up, whether her folks had decided to take their matters elsewhere or perform some legal action? He wondered if she would rat him out and tell that he had been there during the faux ceremony as well. He wondered if she would blame everything on him.

Surely doing all this with her was a mistake? It had to be, it has to be.

Having been involved was like holding a gun to the mouth

In days passing, the mutant glanced around in the crowds to see if he _just happened_ to catch sight of her, whether it was a glimpse of brown hair, tacky the-dye shirt, or hear of a rally about a bitter comeback spoken. But there had been nothing, there was nothing, and all around him had become utterly _boring._

_He began to worry_

That girl, Cherry—he was afraid to approach her because he saw the way Meisha had become and that she appeared to be a bit _happier_ too, and he didn't want to ruin that. And he didn't want to discuss this with Ronny either—whenever he finally _saw_ him—who too gave off air of wanting space.

_He was misinterpreting it all_

But Pietro didn't ask about it, because he _wasn't_ looking for Rainy, and it wasn't like he _cared_, anyway. That would be stupid, that would be absurd, bogus, deranged.

He wasn't.


	41. Chapter 35: Peace Prevail

**_A/N: Alright. Final one here._**

* * *

It was Friday and school had been cancelled—not really, but under his personal proposition it was.

To be honest, it was a Friday and Pietro was skipping school. His sister would be annoyed with him, he knew—and his aunt even more, but that held little effect and persuasion to him. It was already late in to the afternoon and the final bell would ring in the next approaching hours.

So far, he had been wondering town alone, headphones on full blast and playing at normal speed. When waking too late to catch the bus, he had called to Wanda telling that he was getting dressed and would meet her at school, when truly, it was just going to be him and his thoughts.

He didn't feel like attending. He was too impatient, too short-tempered that he decided that it was just going to be him and his thoughts that day.

Rainy Reptile

_Rainy Capulet is cold-blooded, and as a joke, has been compare to lizards and reptiles_

_Along with her offish personality._

_"Don't take this the wrong way but you're as cold as ice with an attitude like a cactus."_

Pietro groaned to himself, running a hand through his gray hair then readjusted his baseball cap before anyone could see his abnormal hair color.

Dark clouds were rolling forward on waves in the distance. The boy craned his head back, watching, ruminating. It was a mid afternoon on a Friday and he was almost certain that there shouldn't be as many kids at the park as there were. He had come here as a pit-stop, after lunch ended and from visiting five fast-food restaurants across town. He had decided that this was a safe place to go.

Sometimes he comes here so he can be alone, where he feels like he's the only person in the world, where adversity doesn't exist and time wasn't an issue.

A one year old kid pushed his twin down the slide when the latter took too long to go down. Their mother came running when the child landed in the softened wood padding.

Pietro looked to his right. There was a stoked bike rack nearby. Flexing his fingers, he debated whether he truly _needed_ one.

_that the chapter with the reptile had started_

_Looking at it the other way around,_

_perhaps this episode wouldn't have had a beginning_

_if it weren't for this incident._

He probably stayed there for ten minutes longer, he wasn't sure. He wasn't only thinking about stealing a bicycle.

Then, Pietro's head snapped up.

Familiar voice

"I didn't know this was where the unfortunate come to gather? Be careful, you don't want to infect everyone else here with your type of luck."

He saw Rainy approaching down the sidewalk.

"And what kind of luck would that be?" A brow quirked, lip forming unhappy.

"Hm, the small, minor...mundane kind."

He growled. "Remember that I didn't have to rescue you from that place, and not leave you at that carnival."

"And do you want a medal for that?" She held that response without any value, and shuffled the small bag hanging from her shoulder—it looked odd and out of place on her. "You don't usually hang around little children, do you? That would be a disappointment to know that you are a pervert. For the sake of your safety here, you aren't one, are you, Maximoff?"

Familiar voice

_black pause scene_

"I remember there was a quote I read once that said: _The only thing that matters in your life right now is time. Use it wisely or you'll forever regret the waste_. I thought it was kinda good. It reminded me of you, you know—you're always hyper energetic, always going fast like you don't have enough time."

He paused, shrugged. He wasn't going to object. "Sure. But—what are _you_ doing here?"

Pietro was leaned against a semicircle jungle gym, hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans, wearing a band t-shirt, frowning. She's noticed that he often frowns.

"At a playground, same as you."

"Aren't you a little _too big_ for playgrounds?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

Another pause. He glared.

"I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were a menace."

_Glare_.

Children struggled to spin each other on a merry-go-round. Two of the swings were taken, the third's occupant jumped off midair. Neither teen saw how he had landed and were staring—glaring—at each other.

Pietro changed positions, leaning against his side instead of his back. Crossing his arms, he huffed, looking the girl up and down. "So why are _you_ here, really?"

"I was threatened by my mother that I either explain where some of her marijuana had gone or go do yard work. I convinced her that she had eaten it all." Really, she had stolen it, selling the drugs to pay back some of what she had given away.

"Speaking of, how'd it go? With your folks and all? Did it roll over nicely or...or what?"

"Do you remember when I said that they were a deadbeat and a liar? That hasn't changed. They also don't really need anything else to worry about."

_black pause scene_

"Which reminds me. Maximoff, is there anything you want from me to do for you? After the situation with the wish-granter and everything, this can be a sort of return offer." She was sitting on the bars of the semicircle jungle gym now, slightly looking down at him, slightly at eye level. "I can only take one request, but it can be anything. I remember that you don't like money, correct?"

"Now I didn't say that though."

"Then what would you like as payment? That is the decent thing to do, isn't it?" She was still having trouble with such things. "I'm still trying to get accustomed to all of this."

"All of what? You're acting like it was something...drastic..." He stopped at realizing his words, remembering the situation, of that suspicious man in the robes with the unnerving glint in his stare, of the woman with three eyes, the odd tapestry pictures. "Um."

"Having feeling," Rainy responded. She looked to her palms, opening and closing them, feeling her skin pull and contract. "Having emotion."

"Say, did you ever get your all memories back? Are they the right ones? The guy didn't flake, did he?"

Rainy paused, thinking. "I think so, that they're all back."

Well that was a relief.

He saw that she was still wearing that locket necklace and became suddenly curious about the picture inside, but refrained from asking—from asking yet. The golden heart was terribly scratched, he saw.

Pigeons cooed loudly in the nearby trees. Rain clouds rolled in from the distance.

"So, what is it that you'd like me to do for you? The wish-granter was content with just money, but for you, it can be anything."

The teen blinked. "A-anything?" He scuffed the heel of his shoe against the ground.

Pietro was extremely selfish, so Rainy had no idea to watch what she offered to him.

The boy felt the tug of a terrible smirk pulling at his lips.

"Really, anything is acceptable."

He had to take a moment to think. From time spent, he knew that this girl can be tricky, sometimes the things she'll say will be a double-edged sword, and he didn't want to be hoodwinked.

"No matter what the wish, I will give it," Rainy continued. "But, you're limited to only one. Whether it is world-domination, popularity, a high reputation, or idolization. All are acceptable."

She would end up feeding his ego

"You really think you have enough power to do that?"

"Of course."

He scoffed. "Such confidence..." was muttered to himself, sardonically. He stepped back as she slid to the ground.

"But truthfully, I'd prefer to hear a more personal wish, because it's easier." She turned, strolling to the right.

"Easier?" He followed her, going further into the park.

"Easier to grant," she clarified.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Anything, really. Anything you'd want?"

He huffed. It was really a tempting offer, but... "Look, I'm not some sleazebag like that conman from the carnival—-"

"You're right. You're your own category of laziness."

Pietro ignored at the insult. "-—_So_, and I really don't have a preference for payment."

Rainy tilted her chin upward. "Ah, so you have a wide variety of secret obsessions instead that you're into? Or kinks? I surely thought that you were as inexperienced as you let on. I think I'm feeling...disappointed?"

"_That's_ what you're disappointed about?!"

She shrugged. "I supposed I don't like being wrong."

That made sense.

"Well I'm not some pervert," he had to clarify for good measure.

They took a seat at the edge of the park, sitting on the elevated black dividers keeping the mulch and wood chips in perimeter—Rainy sitting lightly, Pietro plopping and shaking it slightly.

An airplane flew overhead and out of sight, the sound resonating through the area.

He scratched his hair underneath his hat. "Say, Rainy?Even if there is some kind of arrangement that's made, I think us just...being..." He searched for the right words. "...this...associates, whatever this is you want this to be afterwards, it's going to be difficult. So no, stop, I don't want favors. I never go through with them anyway."

She didn't respond immediately. "Associates..." She took it all in, mentally, rationing.. "If you put it that way, you have a point. You're right. It would be rational, I suppose..."

He blinked, shocked, stunned. _He was right_!

"Hey are you thinking ok? Did you get your brain scrambled? Are you the same Rainy I know?"

She looked at him silently with a look that was not quite questioning, and not quite unamused. "No, I'm perfectly fine." She then pointed a finger in his face, him still stunned. "But don't go around claiming that I'm just some agreeing maiden. That was a one-time occasion, so don't expect it often."

He blinked, astonished.

_red pause scene_

Some time later, the two migrated to one of the benches stationed near the edge of the playground. There weren't many people left now; three families have already come and gone.

Pietro leaned back on his arms. He saw Rainy cross her legs. He looked the other way, inhaling deeply through his nose, convinced that he's losing his common sense.

"Maybe I came off too brash—-" she began.

"You almost always usually do."

"-—But honestly, is there anything you need help with, Maximoff? And tell me if I'm wrong..." She looked at him, he looking the complete opposite way. "Something that's bothering you?" She watched his foot tap the air rapidly.

"No."

"I'm not a very good talker so I can't say it very well, but my intention of wanting to help you are sincere."

He turned slowly, meeting her gaze.

Eyes

"Hm..." There was a noticeable space in-between them. And he _considered_ the possibility of revealing out loud... "Say, if I _do_ tell you..."

"Oh, what is it?" She noticeably perked up, but then mellowed back down. Pietro's brows had immediately arched and his eyes widened. "Try telling me about it. You'll feel better if you just talk instead of bottling it in. That's what they say, at least, anyway."

Pietro's look was still one of bewilderment. "Umm..."

That was the most expression he's seen her have and it was..._unusual_, almost strange. He had been caught off guard, he wasn't ready.

So expressive

_Was this normal?_

He looked out to a small child getting stuck in the middle of the monkey bars. She fell to the ground, scrapping her knees, and screaming. Pietro decided that it wouldn't hurt much to tell Rainy.

He began with in-taking a deep breath. "I had a fight with my sister. Well really it was an argument but—-you know."

"Oh." Pause. "That seems like something I can't help with very well." She heard him sigh loudly, almost a groan. She continued anyway: "but for the time being, why don't you go ahead and tell the rest of your story."

"For the time being," he mocked under his breath. It wasn't like she really was going to listen, he told himself. She probably was just going to take it and tell everyone back at school.

He glanced at her again. She was giving a small smile. He wasn't sure how to take it.

Pietro sighed.

"Your sister is that girl in the red jacket at school? She doesn't talk much, does she? She's the one whose been hanging around another associate of mine, right?" Rainy asked.

"Yeah, Wanda's a basketcase. She's weird. She won't really like you—if you think you're someone with authority, I mean." _Or anyone popular_, he didn't add.

"I think we kinda met before." She meant about the confrontation about a month ago with Wanda Maximoff approaching her seeming randomly. Though she wasn't going to get into that. "But what's the story of what happened?"

He scratched at his temple. He was nervous. "There isn't really a story," he lied. "She caught me coming home late and for the last few weeks she's been demanding to know where I had been. When I told her, she got angry. She didn't like it. We had an argument and I left."

"I see."

The pigeons in the trees flew off in a flurry.

"That's a pretty complicated problem."

He scoffed. "It's not that complicated. Wanda's always on my case. She doesn't like anyone, really."

"No, I mean the situation, not the person. Is she your younger sister?"

"Oh." He shrugged, trying to make it a smaller concern. "No, she's," he hesitated, "she's my twin." He watched Rainy's brows rise from the corner of his sight. "Yeah. Well...maybe it's because it's just...maybe it's just me being petty, getting all upset by something _she_ says, yeah."

Rainy leaned back on her palms as well, feeling the warm concrete under her hands. "No. I think it's pretty rational."

He _humph_-ed.

She turned her head to the left, her hair falling from one shoulder as she watched him looking up at the sky. The clouds were approaching closer. It was going to rain soon. "I'm afraid to say that in regards to your pettiness, there's nothing I can do really, even with my abilities."

His bright brows drew together. "How about a little encouragement," he snapped.

"Sorry, I was being brash again, wasn't I? But it's rather obvious, and in regards to your pettiness, there's nothing I can really do, even with my abilities," she repeated in a lighter tone.

He sighed again. Why was he still here again?

Pietro leaned up and crouched over his knees. The other watched him pick up a random wood chip. "You probably think it's really lame—me—for me to be bothered by such things." But Pietro thinks at a much quicker pace than she, and can easily overthink. In the matter of seconds of his pause, he raised his head and already considered the worse. A few seconds later, he appeared to becoming angry. "Why are you even still here? Why don't you go off with your _popular_ friends or that new boy you'll be hanging out with?" His arm thrusted into the air, the words spoken through clenched teeth.

Rainy watched him quietly, calmly. She waited until he had calmed and was looking down at the ground again to speak.

"I hardly do. It's the type of lame you get from receiving an obscene fortune from a fortune cookie. Or from believing that one can actually make all your hopes and burdens go away. It's completely understandable but at the same time, it won't get you anywhere without affirmative action."

His voice muffled, "you use a lot of high quality words."

"And to think about it, your type of lameness is like those cookie fortunes, the ones that don't state that anything bad is going to happen, but nothing good either. Like this one from a Chinese restaurant I went to two days ago. It said: _You won't be as happy as you think in the beginning, after don't hurry to build your house. If you do so, it will be granted. The cocoon of happiness will unwrap, and you will have nothing to worry about_."

He paused. She must have a really good memory.

"That really was lame," he sulked.

Shrugging, there was a hint of grin on her face. "But you look like the type who would be caring towards their sister. And I can't deny that adds a bit of brownie points towards you. You're also kind of charming. I see how all the girls fall for you."

He wondered if that was sarcasm again.

It partially was.

Pietro groaned.

Rainy giggled.

Peaceful

HEARTS

* * *

Neither of the two of the mutant trio have heard from Ronny since he suddenly became distant. Neither Pietro nor Meisha have spoken with him—they _have_ seen him passing in the halls but hadn't made a conscious effort to communicate. Because now, Pietro has a new set of issues to deal with and to understand, and Meisha—-

_Where was Meisha ?_

The young redhead stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror of her home. She was gripping the edges of the counter, the corners digging into her palms and tinting them a flushed red. She was gritting her teeth, her lips pulled back as she watched her red-orange hair, loose, billowing around her on its own, swaying outward in all directions as if floating, as if she was submerged underwater. Her hair danced and twirled around her on its own as her eyes turned a more brighter, predatory color. She snarled, groaned, tears gathering in her eyes.

The second voice in her head commanded, vociferated.

The girl sobbed.

She had locked herself inside for the past—ten—twenty—fifteen minutes? She wasn't quite sure.

She was afraid. Whenever the voice returned, she would become utterly, completely taken over by fear. She would feel powerless, victimized, violated. She was never sure what would happened and she never wanted to find out if she would listen—not again. She didn't want to repeat that horrific incident two years ago at school. Most times she felt guilty about hurting that boy and left him wounded on the tile floor. Other times, she felt that he had deserved it.

Meisha's eyes were tinting a bright amber color. She snarled in the mirror, feeling fear, feeling control slipping.

Only when her mother called from the living area down the hall, snapping the young mutant back to reality and making her jump, did Meisha's shoulders fall and she was able to gulp down a breath as the voice in her head faded, submerged, and finally quieted. Her hair fell, limp again, tickling the upper-middle of her thighs. It fell back into the curls her mother had styled it into, and she wiped at her face, and hoped that her puffy eyes wouldn't be _too_ noticeable as she steadied herself and stepped out the bathroom door.

She was always anxious, nervous, and stressed.

They would be having family over soon for a get-together her mother planned.

As the mutant exited the bathroom, she heard that some of them had already arrived.

Meisha forced on a small, polite smile.

* * *

_**A/N: Wow**_

_**Ok so first I'd like to say THANK YOU so much for you all who stayed with this ball of mess. Thank you so much reviewers! Your honest opinions and suggestions really helped get this done. You people are the backbone to this production and it really couldn't have gotten done without you. I've never finished a full-lengthed fic before, so really thank you so much! **_

_**Now to address a few things: Yes this is the end. After this chapter, the one titles 'Fascinat' (the second chapter that was posted) comes after this one here. That was rewritten/edited to correspond with the ending. And though this is the (finally) final chapter to this story, IT IS NOT THE END! I was really, really, hardcore considering on just leaving it alone but a very helpful little birdie advised me to continue. That being said, the first part of the second arc is published which will continue after Instigator, after Rainy regains her and emotion now has Pietro ensnarled further than anticipated. The second arc is called Touch****—and yes, that one will basically be Rainy/Pietro, MUCH more than Instigator was. I know, FINALLY! Will I hear from you all over there on that one? (Because I really, really hope so!)**_

_**Now, to **_**AmyRoxx123: **_thanks so much for your words! I'm sorry if I didnt make it clear but no, Rainy doesn't have any powers (at least none that are dominant) There are countless fics on this website and elsewhere that have other characters that have powers. There. Are. SO. Many! So no, she isn't planned to have powers. (Is that ok?) Now, as for dofp and apocalypse—here's the thing: when this thing was first being planned, there was so much more that was going to be incorporated (and I had planned to be completed much, much, so much sooner, I'm so sorry). I had planned all this out even before I heard of the announcement of another X-Men movie. The original idea was to have four parts: **Instigator** (Pre-dofp), **Touch** (dofp, it's planned to be much shorter), then a third and fourth arc that would take place in the age of ultron verse. But I'm going to go see apocalypse today so there will probably be some tweaking (and if you want there to be?) Idk, does that explain it? I hope I answered your questions. Shoot me a message if I didn't? I'd be happy to answer, if you'd want.  
_

_**Thank you all again for helping bring this to a close. **_


	42. Chapter 42

I posted a short Rainy/Pietro story that is set after X-Men Apocalypse. Go read, review, and favorite it! If I get enough reviews, I'll add more fluff to it!

**Onyxx-09**


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